An Angel And A Snake
by History101
Summary: After the not-Apocalypse, life is far from dull for an angel and demon, both of whom can finally admit that they're more than just friends. Among other things, after a run in with a strange priest, Crowley is stuck as a snake during a bitterly cold London winter, a cottage in the South Downs gets two new residents, and Aziraphale gets a new job. Not really written chronologically.
1. A Strange Priest

It was the middle of a particularly unforgiving winter in London, just over two weeks before Christmas, and it had been snowing non stop all day, nonetheless, Aziraphale had opened the shop and had been happy that no one had yet ventured inside. In fact, he hadn't seen one single person walk past in the street at all. His collection was safe for another day and thanks to the snow, he doubted anyone would notice if he closed early. So, he went to lock the door and turn over the sign from 'open' to 'closed' when he saw something rather odd on the pavement outside.

Amidst the thick, white snow was a black snake mostly buried but its head was sticking out and it was this that made the angel run out of the shop and frantically dig out the creature from under its freezing prison. There was only one huge black snake that would be loitering near his shop and he'd recognise his friend's serpent form half blind and drunk. There was just something not quite natural about a demonic snake.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale said, concerned as he gently ran his hand over the frozen snake. Its unusual yellow eyes were unresponsive and dull and since snakes had no eyelids, it wasn't quite clear whether it was awake or asleep but when the angel got no response he took that to mean that his friend was unconscious. "Oh dear," Aziraphale sighed and looked around, luckily there was no one there to see him, with great difficulty, carry the snake into his shop.

There was a nice back room with a fireplace and an inviting sofa surrounded by mountains of books and this was where he brought his half frozen friend. Aziraphale soon had a roaring fire burning in the grate and he settled Crowley on the sofa with his small, snake head resting on his lap and swathed in half a dozen blankets. He had his wings splayed around them in the hope of retaining heat, a book on hand and a warm mug of cocoa, now all he could do was wait until his friend woke up which happened about half an hour later.

A quiet hiss and the slow movement of the snake shuffling in the blankets alerted Aziraphale to this and he breathed a sigh of relief. He set down his book and looked down at the snake.

"Crowley," the angel said and the snake started darting its head around frantically. "It's alright, it's me, dear fellow. You're safe and sound in my bookshop," he explained, "Are you warm enough?"

Crowley hissed as he shook his head weakly and instinctively snuggled, though he himself would deny it vehemently, closer to the warm angel. "...What...happened...did I make it?" Crowley managed to ask, his voice hoarse and quiet.

"Make it? You mean here? I found you outside buried in the snow almost frozen to death. I've been worried sick about you. What on earth were you doing outside and in your serpent form, too?"

"..Didn't have a choicccccccce," the demon hissed back, his forked tongue flicking out.

"Can you change back? You'll warm up a lot faster," Aziraphale said.

"Can't," Crowley replied, "Sssstuck like thissssss...at leasssssst for a while."

"Why?"

"Priessssssst...knew a binding sssssspell. Damn sssssstrange priessssst he was too."

Binding spells were odd things and the fact that a priest knew one in this century was odder still. They were used against demons to force them to assume their original demonic state, in Crowley's case, a snake, to show the world for what they really were. They wore off on their own eventually.

"A priest?" Aziraphale asked, exasperated, "Crowley, my dear, please tell me you weren't tempting the clergy at Christmas?"

"If head officccce decccidesss to sssshow up and assssk, then yessssss, I wasss...but...errr...well," he turned his eyes away, sounding embarrassed. "I wassss going to, that'ssss what I wassss going there for but I found a..."

"What?"

"Erm...promisssse me you won't tell anyone."

"What on earth is this about? Are you in trouble?"

"Beyond being ssstuck as a sssnsake? If Hell findssss out why, then yeah, I'm in big trouble. I **wassss** going to tempt the Priessst, jussst a bit of fun, y'know. You're always saying how 'good' he is...y'know, that church you go and help out at?"

"Yes, it's a lovely old church and he's quite a nice man. I really wish you hadn't tried to tempt him."

"Didn't get the chancccce. I wasss on the way over I found a kid...jusssst a girl...sssshe wassss half buried in the ssssnow and sssshe ssssaid ssshe was homelesssss. I remembered you telling me that that church hasss placccessss for people who need them ssso I took her there."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale beamed, "I'm proud of you, what a remarkably good deed," he said, stroking the snake's head.

"Bloody priessst ssssaw my eyesss!" Crowley hissed. "Knew a binding ssssspell too. What kind of priesssst can do a binding ssspell thisss good?!" he exclaimed.

"A very good question," the angel said. "I wasn't aware that he had that kind of power. We should probably investigate once it's worn off. How long do you think that's likely to take?" he asked.

"Wissssh I knew. A day...a week...who knowsss."

"Being frozen half to death won't have helped you to regain your strength either."

"Didn't know anywhere elsssse to go. I wasss ssso clossse to the ssshop...almossst made it insssside...wasss sssso cold. Mussst've blacked out," Crowley replied. "They ssssay no good deed goessss unpunished," he hissed.

"That young girl would disagree with you. You likely saved her life."

"You're a bad influencccce, angel."

"Maybe so," Aziraphale said, "But I've said before that there's good in you."

"Don't ssssay that out loud!"

"There's no one here but us."

"Ssstil don't sssay it!" the demon said and shuddered.

"Still cold?" Aziraphale asked, the smile on his face fading away to concern.

"How can you sssstill be sssso warm when it'sss sssso cold?"

"I suspect it's do with Heavenly warmth," Aziraphale answered, bringing his wings closer around them. "Being warm blooded helps, too, I imagine," he said.

"Hate being a ssssnake in winter," Crowley bemoaned.

"Here," the angel said, moving the pile of blankets closer to him, if that was even possible. The snake slithered inside its cocoon and draped his long body over the angels' lap.

"...Thanksss..." Crowley muttered, sheepishly.

"Anytime," Aziraphale replied, gently stroking the surprisingly smooth snake skin and almost chuckled when he heard his friend purr in response. He wasn't aware that snakes could purr. "You're more than welcome to stay, of course," he said after a moment, "In fact, I'd rather you did, at least that way I can keep an eye on you and this binding spell. We don't want any nasty surprises."

Crowley slightly raised his head to look the angel in the eyes. Since the Apocalypse that never was, and even during it, they'd spent more time together than they had in any other century. Not a day had passed since then that they hadn't spent in each other's company. Before, they used to meet up every one and a while for lunch and before that it was chance meetings typically. The 'Not-Apocalypse' had changed so much between their friendship, after all, forming your own side, away from their respective head offices and thwarting the end of the world together was bound to have an effect.

"M'kay," Crowley simply replied and went back to resting his head against the warm angel.


	2. Not A Cat

Ar first, Crowley mostly drifted in and out of sleep, lulled by the ever present soothing hand along his scales and he awoke when he was little jostled by Aziraphale settling himself back onto the sofa and arranging the snake back onto his lap. It was only now that he registered the quiet, soothing piano music playing on the gramophone, Aziraphale must've only recently switched it on, either that or he really must've been out of it.

"Apologies," the angel said, "I went to fetch us some drinks."

"Dunno if sssnakes can drink alcohol, angel," he replied, sleepily.

"Then it's a jolly good thing I didn't bring you any," Aziraphale told him and balanced a dish next to his friend's head. "Hot cocoa with cream for me and warm milk for you," he explained.

"I'm not a cat," Crowley tried his best to roll his pupil-less eyes and flicked his tongue out at the milk, smelling it as only a snake could.

"It'll help you to keep warm."

Crowley glared at it as though cursing it into oblivion but he caved easily enough and, despite his assertion that he wasn't a cat, he began flicking his forked tongue into the bowl. After a moment, he lowered his head closer to the milk and soon, the dish was empty. Aziraphale made no comment as he set it aside and drank his own mug of cocoa whilst he read his book.


	3. Concern

"'Zira?" Crowley asked after a while. It was a nickname he'd begun using not that long ago and he tended to alternative now between it and 'angel.' He claimed that 'Aziraphale' was just too many syllables to bother with.

"Hmm?" the angel hummed turning a page in his book.

"You aren't going to get in any kind of trouble for thisssss, are you?"

"For what, my dear?"

"Helping a demon. I'm ussssually the one doing the ressscuing between usss and at leasssst if they ever found out about that, I can alwayssss sssay that I was working on tricking you to trusssst me so I could drag you down to the dark ssside, which I never did by the way," he added, quickly.

"I know you didn't," the angel replied.

"I just can't ssssee your lot looking all that kindly on ssssaving a demon."

"Possibly not," Aziraphale shrugged.

"I know I'm not in Hell's good...err...bad booksss anymore. Dunno about you though your lot are sssstill weird about it, right?"

"Yes, it's all quite perplexing, really. I still receive messages from Heaven...about which good deeds need attention...the odd miracle, nothing too strenuous. But I was surprised when the messages just started up again after all that time of...silence."

"Hmmm," Crowley nodded, "They could usssse this as an excusssse to make you Fall."

"I doubt that," Aziraphale said, dismissively.

"Why'sss that?"

"Because I'm acting for pure, unselfish reasons; the friendship, concern and love that I feel towards you. I can't be damned for my positive emotions when they're what I was designed for in the first place."

Crowley stared up at him in shock. Again, it was another thing that had changed since the world hadn't ended was the fact that it was no longer just wordlessly assumed that they were acquainted only because there was so much history between them, they were immortal after all. It had never been said between them that they were friends until the bookshop had burned down, but it was perhaps surprising that the demon had said it first rather than the angel and the surprise had been evident on the angel's, at the time, translucent face. Now they could, and did admit willingly that they were friends not out of necessity, but because they chose to be, they genuinely liked and respected the other.

"You ssssure?"

"Oh yes, very," Aziraphale beamed at him.

"They were gonna let you burn before."

"This is different. We're not thwarting an Apocalypse here."

"You're meant to sssmite demonssss, not...cuddle them, 'Zira."

"You're staying here, Crowley and I'm going to help you to get better. Though I must say, I'm touched by your concern."

"Ssssssssss," Crowley hissed and tucked his head under the blankets, listening to the angel chuckle at him.


	4. Wings

"Your wingssss are a messsss, angel," Crowley noticed. In point of fact, they weren't as bad as he made them out to be but they could do with some work. They were still so very beautiful even in their state of disarray and a tiny part of him was jealous of that beauty. But he didn't say it. He had no right to be jealous, he told himself when his own wings were so different because he'd Fallen.

"What?" Aziraphale blinked up from his book and took a quick glance over at his white wings. "Oh yes, I'm afraid they are a little. I've never quite gotten the hang of preening them myself and it's been a while since I've been to Heaven to get them taken care of. Perhaps I've let them go a tiny bit."

"You're 6,000 years old and you ssstill can't preen your own wingssssss," Crowley lamented. "Can you even fly like that?" he asked.

"Can't say I've tried recently. It's not really feasible in the middle of London."

"And you never thought to just miracle it ssssso they don't sssse you?"

"It's rather frowned upon, I'm afraid, to use a miracle for purely selfish reasons like that. Unless I'm saving my own life or someone else's I suppose, I don't really have a need to fly."

"You miracle our table free at the Ritzzzz all the time and it'ssss not like we need to eat. You've probably miracled up your fair share of bookssss for your collection, too."

"Well...yes, I suppose that's true," the angel blushed a little.

"Sssso, don't you missss flying at all?"

"Now that I think about it...yes, yes, I do," Aziraphale pondered, thoughtfully, "Usually I'm so preoccupied with my books or the food I tend to, well, forget about it."

"I could...preen them for you...when I can change back," Crowley offered. His own wings were always perfectly groomed, pride of course being a sin he took great pleasure in it. It wasn't only pride though, it was practical. He couldn't fly if his feathers were molting. "If you want...I mean..." he muttered.

To anyone else from Heaven or Hell, a demon offering to groom an angels' wings would be a cause for them to suspect insanity and / or laugh. Their wings were the most sacred part of them, the most treasured and the most easily broken. It was assumed that every demon who Fell instantly lost their wings, but in actual fact, the more evil the demon was by intent, then the sooner they'd loose their wings. Because most demons Fall and instantly begin committing evil left, right and centre, their wings vanished instantly. It was frowned upon and was punishable by a gruesome death for a demon to retain their wings. It was a mark of Heaven and therefore, not acceptable down below.

The fact that Crowley had retained his wings even after he Fell, after 6,000 years suggested that he'd never been quite as bad as other demons like Hastur or Ligur, both of whom had lost their wings when they'd Fell. He'd been claiming for years that he too had lost his wings and no one from Hell had ever bothered to check, after all what demon would lie about that? But he was always secretly relieved when he checked to see that they were still there every singe night. It was too much of a risk to go flying too often; who knew what other demons were lurking nearby? But he'd miss them if he ever lost them.

"Oh, really?" the angel smiled, fondly, "Thank you, that's very generous of you. I'd be so grateful."

"Ssssssss," came the hissed, nonchalant reply.

"Speaking of wings," Aziraphale began. "I'd always heard that demons loose theirs after they Fall, is that the case?" he asked.

"Ermmmm...yeah."

"But you still have yours," the angel noted. The first and only time he'd seen them in 6,000 years was when Crowley had stopped time and they'd briefly spoken to Adam right before Satan himself had appeared on Earth.

"...Yessssss."

"You always have?"

"...Yessss," Crowley repeated.

"Being as they're made from the Almighty's Grace and if the Almighty hasn't seen fit to deprive you of them, then it means that I was right, doesn't it? There is good in you and it's always been there," Aziraphale smiled, "And I'm not the only one who knows it."

"Ssssshut it, angel."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, my dear," Aziraphale insisted, "It's a good thing."

"Not if you're a demon."

"Is that what you really think?"

"Doesssssn't matter what I think. If Hell ever found out I lied about them, a holy water bath all at once would be classssssed as a merccccy killing. They'd tear them off feather by feather and then drip holy water on what'sssss left...slowly...while they're sssstill attached. Ssssaw that happen once...agessss ago on another demon who Fell but sssstill had hisss wingsss. He wassss ssstupid enough to let ssssomeone ssssee. I warned him. He wasss barely a demon for five minutessss before they got to him. Horrible way to go. Took weekssss for him to die."

Aziraphale's arms slightly tightened around his friend, though not enough to hurt him but it wasn't unnoticed by the snake who hissed in what he intended to be a comforting manner though he wasn't sure if snakes could actually convey comfort via a hiss.

"Are there no other demons with wings?" the angel asked.

"Don't think sssssso, no. If there issss anyone, they're hiding them, like me."

"There are no other demons like you, my friend. I **did** only catch a glimpse back then, but I thought your wings looked really rather splendid," Aziraphale said, genuinely, "Standing in the middle of what was potentially the end of the world didn't seem like the time to comment on them though. I'm glad you never lost them, it would be a true shame if you did."

Fortunately, Crowley thought, it was quite impossible for a snake to blush.


	5. Chocolate Chip Laced With Love

"Would you like to try some?" Aziraphale asked. He was holding a plate of artistically baked and rather large cookies with an adoring glint in his eye. "They're from a delightful little bakery across the street," he explained. Crowley's had popped his head up from under the blankets when he'd smelled food. "The young woman who makes them is truly an artist. I can practically feel the love she puts into her work," he said, staring at the food.

"Chocolate chip laced with 'love'? I'm a demon! Are you trying to poisssssson me?" Crowley asked.

"What?" Aziraphale snapped of his loving, food induced stare and blinked down at his friend. "Well, I mean it wouldn't...surely it wouldn't...oh dear, I'm dreadfully sorry..." he stammered but stopped when his friend started laughing at him.

"Too easssssy," the snake hissed and flicked his tail gently at the angel's chest. "Now, gimme," he said, slithering up towards the plate, "They look good."

"You...you...you tricked me?" Aziraphale demanded, moving the plate away just before Crowley could snatch a cookie and the snake hissed.

"Maybe just a bit. Issss it my fault you make it ssssso easssy?"

"I was genuinely concerned that..."

"Death by cookie? Pleasssse, not bloody likely even if ssssshe did 'bake it with love.' Y'know, you're just a big ssssoftie, 'Zira," he replied.

"I'm aware," the angel sighed.

"'Zira, cookie," Crowley said, impatiently. He stretched out to reach for the plate but once again, the angel moved it away and the snake hissed in frustration at him.

"Joking aside, I think, perhaps that you're right. We can't take risks that could result in you being poisoned, my dear," Aziraphale replied, keeping the plate out of his reach. "I'll just have to do the decent thing and dispose of all of these quite delicious treats all by myself," he said, mockingly.

"But...but...there's ssssix of them! You can't eat all of them by yoursssself!" Crowley exclaimed but the angel shot him with a look that simply said, 'watch me.' "'Zira! Fine, I'm sssssory I tricked you...thissss isss me apologisssing, yes, good, now can I have a cookie?" Crowley bemoaned. "Gaaaaah...can I have a cookie...pleasssssse," he asked after a moment.

Aziraphale caved easily with a fond smile and set the plate on his lap atop the blankets right next to Crowley. He began to break apart one of the cookies and held part of it out for his friend.

"Errr...y'know I can ssssswallow ssssomething the ssssize of a horsssse in one go if I wanted to, right?" Crowley stared at him. "Ssssnake jaw and everything," he explained.

"Yes, but we don't want you to strain yourself, now do we? And if it's poisonous, better a small piece than a whole one," the angel replied.

Crowley sighed, "I **did** apologisssssse," he lamented.

"I know," Aziraphale's smile never faltered as he waved the small cookie segment in front of the snakes' face.

"Ssssss," Crowley stuck out his tongue at the angel but he wasn't designed to resist temptation, at least not for long. So he took the crumbling piece of cookie from Aziraphale's fingers, making sure that his fangs grazed past the soft skin as if in threat, but the angel didn't even flinch.

* * *

A.N. I'm English, and we do in fact use the word 'cookie'. It's generally used to descibe domething bigger than a standard biscuit. So not all biscuits are actually biscuits, lol.


	6. A Christmas Carol

"What're you reading?" Crowley asked.

"A Christmas Carol," Aziraphale answered, "I thought it was appropriate."

"Bah," the snake grumbled.

"Don't you like it?"

"God bless us, everyone... and all that?" he gave a mock shudder. "Obviousssly not, I'm a demon," he snapped.

"Well, if you say so, my dear," Aziraphale relented. "You know, Charles gave me this copy himself when it was first printed, brought it over himself. Signed it for me too. We had sherry. He was quite a nice man," he smiled.

"Sssstupid ssstory, if you asssk me," Crowley grumbled.

"Why do you think that?"

"You can't essssscape Hell," the snake said, "Doessssn't matter what Sssscrooge did after to make up for it all."

"I'm sorry you think that. I believe that the Almighty does forgive us our sins, if we truly repent, and he did."

"Your oh so forgiving, precious Almighty? You mean the one famous for drowning innocent people or killing babies...remember Egypt?! And banishing all non believers to Hell," Crowley mocked, "You mean that oh so forgiving Almighty?"

"Well...when you put it like that..." Aziraphale grumbled, "I suppose it depends on which testament you choose to look at and..."

"Personally, I think it's a weird kind of torture to run the filmssss every year, bombarding people with it everywhere whether they want it or not and there'ssss sssso many. It's not a torture I'm responsssible for anyway," Crowley said, stopping the nagel before he could start a philosophical debate. He didn't have the energy for one yet, although he did quite enjoy their discussions.

"Films?"

"There'ssss...I don't know, a hundred different versionssss."

"Of what?"

"Of A Christmas Carol. Jusssst where've you been in the last hundred yearssss or ssso...oh, right...nevermind. You need a tv, angel."

"I don't think so."

"**I** think so."


	7. Mr Fell's Pet

Occasionally in his profession as a rare book dealer, Aziraphale, though he hardly ever sold his precious books, restored them for caring customers of a similar disposition to his own. Mrs. Harrison was an enthusiastic bibliophile as well as a wealthy woman with a huge library of her own stashed away in an old family manor house and many of her books had been restored by the angel. She was personally standing in the shop, fresh in from the cold winter snow, to examine his latest work on one of her prized possessions.

"It looks brand new. It's perfect! Oh, it was well worth braving the snow for this," she said, delighted.

"It was my pleasure, it's quite a remarkable book," Aziraphale replied.

"It's been in the family for...aaaaahhhh," the woman broke off as Crowley, as a snake, slithered up onto the counter and onto Aziraphale's shoulders. "Mr. Fell...what on earth..." she exclaimed.

"Oh, don't mind him," Aziraphale told her calmly. "He won't harm you. I was up all night finishing off your book so he probably thinks I've been neglecting him," he said, stroking Clowley's head as he hissed.

"...Errr...yes...well, I'll just..." Mrs. Harrison stammered and nervously fumbled for the book resting on the counter. She managed to steady it in her hand and made her escape without another word.

Crowley laughed as only a snake could and Aziraphale sighed.

"Was that really necessary, my dear? You almost gave the poor woman a heart attack and you know how frail humans are," Aziraphale lamented.

"Don't sssspoil my fun, angel," he replied.

"Whatever am I going to do with you?" the angel shook his head and tried to move, but failed. "I erm...don't quite know how to put this...delicately, my dear, but you're really rather heavy," he said, sheepishly.

"Heavy?! You could lift a ten tonne truck if you wanted to! And I'm not 'heavy'. I'm perfectly lithe, thank you very much," Crowley humphed and turned his head, sticking his snake nose high in the air.

"Of course you aren't, you're erm...as lithe as ever. I only meant that you're half dragging on the floor and tangled around my legs. You're rather weighing them down. I can't move," the angel explained.

"I know," Crowley said, smugly as he coiled himself around his friends' neck.

"You really can be quite petulant sometimes," Aziraphale sighed, not sounding concerned in the slightest that he had a quite poisonous animal around his jugular.

His only response was an amused hiss.


	8. A Musically Inclined Angel

Among Aziraphale's many and varied possession was an antique grand piano. It had been given to him by Mozart himself and though he'd never claim to be a great master, he could play quite well enough in his humble opinion. He knew Crowley could too if he concentrated hard enough, but he also knew that his friend preferred the guitar.

Aziraphale was trying to play one of his favoured piano solos by candlelight but Crowley was draped over him and the piano and he was continually flicking his tail on the keys, ruining the angel's concentration as well as the music.

"Crowley, will you please stop doing that?" Aziraphale begged. He moved his hands away from the piano and forcefully gripped his own knees in frustration.

"But thisssss piece is dull, angel," the snake bemoaned.

"I thought you liked it."

"I do, but you're playing it like it'ssss for a funeral or ssssomething."

"My dear, it **is** a requiem," Aziraphale replied, "How else is one meant to play such a piece?"

"Ssssoundsss more lively on a guitar when I play it," the snake insisted.

"That's as may be, but I cannot play a guitar and until you change back, neither can you. When you can, you're more than welcome to prove to me just how 'lively' a requiem can be, but in the meantime, may I?" Aziraphale asked, exasperated, raising his hands to the piano again.

"Fiiiinnnnnneeeee," Crowley dragged out the word and flicked his tail away from the piano keys.


	9. Culinary Disaster

"I'm not exxxxxactly Gordon Ramsey, but I don't think thissss issss how cooking issss meant to go, angel," Crowley noted. He was slithering through the rarely used kitchen in the bookshop's basement.

Aziraphale had miraculously installed it several decades ago when a home cooking fad had taken off. The angel's curiosity with it had been over quickly as all of his culinary creations had failed spectacularly, but it looked as though he was trying again. And failing again. The floor that Crowley was forced to slither along was coated in baking flour and who only knew what else. He'd been in the middle of a rather nice nap when he'd awoke alone by the fire and slithered around to find Aziraphale and now found himself coated in dozens of different cooking ingredients that had made their way onto the floor rather than into a mixing bowl.

"Who?" the angel asked, confused.

"Never mind," the snake rolled his eyes. "What're you try'na do, anyway?" he asked.

"Well, I was trying to make a Christmas pudding for us just in case you don't manage to change back in time for us to have our festive dinner at the Ritz. I don't imagine they'll let you go as a snake after all. But...erm..." the angel glanced about the room, sheepishly. "I was going to surprise you," he muttered, sadly.

"...Well...I'm...I'm definitely ssssurprised," Crowley replied hissing as his tail struck a particularly large chunk of, well he really had no idea what it was.

"Oh, I am sorry," Aziraphale sighed, carefully making his way through the mess and over to his friend. "You're all covered in...you're a mess and it's my fault," he said and knelt down then reached out his arm. "Come along," he muttered and let Crowley crawl his way up along his arm and onto his shoulders before he stood up.

In a split second, the room, Aziraphale's clothes and Crowley were all miraculously cleaned of the culinary mess as though it had never happened.

"I thought we'd essssstablished before that you can't cook," Crowley remarked.

"Yes, well, I thought...older and wiser, I hoped," Aziraphale sheepishly ran his hand through his fluffy hair.

"Apparently not," the snake gently tapped the end of his nose against Aziraphale's chin making him smile a little.

"Apparently not, no," the angel echoed.

"Thankssssss though," Crowley hissed quietly. Demons didn't tend to make a habit of thanking people, particularly angels for anything, but Aziraphale's beatific smile, in Crowley opinion, was well worth the indignity.


	10. Big, Happy Demon Family

Three demons had wondered into the bookshop, they were so visibly demonic that it was obvious what they were and Aziraphale managed to duck unseen into the back room from behind a stack of books. Crowley was curled up before the fire and Aziraphale scrambled to push aside more books from atop an old, wooden chest. He unlocked it with a wave of his hand and took out a beautiful, silver sword. It wasn't the flaming sword he'd been given at the Beginning of course, this one was slightly larger and, unfortunately, it didn't flame.

"Crowley, you need to stay hidden," he said, quickly and quietly he began to take the blankets and pile them one atop the other on the floor.

"What?" the demon demanded.

"They can't find you, especially not while you're like this," the angel tried to explain.

"Who? What're you talking about?"

"Demons!" Aziraphale replied. "They cannot know that you're here! Please, stay hidden. Let me..."

"There'ssss no way I'm just gonna..."

"Please, Crowley!" Aziraphale begged as they heard the sounds of the demons terrorising the front of his bookshop by smashing it all up.

"I may sssstill be a sssnake, but..."

"If they find you, they'll report back to Hell and send more and they'll wonder just why you're stuck as you are, now please...just let me handle this," the angel begged him earnestly.

Non too gently, he lifted the huge snake and dropped him into the pile of blankets he'd been making. He then tied up each one individually, trapping his friend inside in a soft but inescapable prison. He then shoved the mound of snake and blankets into the old chest from which he'd kept the sword and closed the lid, forgetting in his haste to lock it as he ran back out to the front of the shop.

"Unless you're here to appreciate my fine collection of literature or wish me the seasons greetings, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he declared to the three of them, brandishing the sword. They were a hideous mix of horns, charred skin and buzzing flies and they laughed at him.

"We're not goin' anywhere," one of them said.

"We're gonna stay riiiiiiight here and have a nice little talk," the second one said, he was brandishing a gun.

"About?" Aziraphale asked.

"Crowley. You're gonna tell us where he is," the third demon said.

"I highly doubt that since I don't even recognise the name," the angel lied, "I cannot tell you what I don't know." It wasn't common knowledge among demons that he and Crowley had their Agreement, so it was possible that he could trick them, at lest he hoped it was. But his hope was short lived.

"What d'ya know? Angels can lie...or they can try to," the first demon, who appeared to take charge, replied, smirking.

"Now, see here..."

The demon suddenly produced a small, sliver lighter from his grimy coat pocket. It was engraved with Satan's demonic sigil and he flicked open the lid. He set his own hand aflame and grinned, "Hellfire," he told Aziraphale who took a step back. "You're the daft angel what hangs around with that bastard, Crowley. We ain't stupid," he said.

"Could've fooled me," the angel couldn't help but wince at his speech.

"Tell me where he is and I won't burn you to cinders."

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that," the angel scoffed.

"Nah, you're right, I don't," he shrugged and blew on his hand like a fire breather and shot out a scorchingly hot blast of fire towards the angel.

Aziraphale's wings burst out from his back just in time and he used them to create a strong gust of air, blowing back the flames and forcing all three demons to slam back against the walls and windows behind them. His wings seemed to shine brighter than the sun for a moment and the windows were suddenly engulfed in Heavenly light, blocking out the streets from view, but more importantly, blocking out the inside of the shop from view of any onlookers who might be walking past. The demon dropped the lighter in his surprise and the lid, thankfully, clicked shut at his feet.

Aziraphale then stamped his right foot against the old floorboard once and streams of pale, golden light shot out from the floor and climbed up the walls and up onto the ceiling, lighting shining ethereal symbols everywhere.

Over 200 of living in the same place and it had taken an Apocalypse for him to realise that his precious home was woefully unprotected against, well anything really. All angels were well versed in protective wards, it wasn't magic so much as it was a clever way of using Heavenly light for protection. Aziraphale had spent countless hours carving the symbols into every inch of his bookshop and since he owned the whole building, that had been no small task. They were always there, but unless he used his own inherent light to bring them to life, then they remained dormant. He couldn't keep them alive for too long though or he'd risk draining his strength. He used them now to bind the demons where they stood and the light began to curl around their feet like unyielding tree roots, but they too, wouldn't last long.

"If you leave now," he told them, his voice seemingly had an other worldly echo, "I won't pursue you. My word as an Angel."

"Go to Hell!" the unnamed, first demon spat, struggling to move his feet.

"Oh, very well," he sighed. "But I insist, you first," he said.

He raised the sword he held in his right hand and stabbed the demon with it, straight through the heart, if he had one and he began to disintegrate as if he had been drowned in Holy Water. The demons stared in shock and suddenly, a hint of fear. "It was forged centuries ago by a saint and I have it blessed every week by three different priests and anointed in Holy Water. It's more than enough for dispatching demons. I assure you," Aziraphale explained as the demon he'd stabbed finally turned to ashes at his feet. "Remember, I gave you the chance to leave," he said.

"Hastur...damn it all," the second demon exclaimed as he broke free of the light after recovering from the shock of seeing his leader turned into a pile of ash and used his gun to shoot at Aziraphale's wings.

The Angel managed to doge the first three but his wing span was well over twelve feet and he only had a small space to move around in, so it was inevitable that eventually, the bullets would hit their mark. As feathers and blood began to fall from his delicate right wing, he cried out in agony. The third demon was then able to escape from the light holding him down and he picked up the lighter which had fallen into the ash pile of the first demon.

Aziraphale had fallen to one knee, his left hand clutching at his shoulder, trying to reach his wounded wing and his right hand was still holding the sword. He managed to stand back up and used his uninjured wing to trip the second demon which he then stabbed quickly. The demon began to disintegrate outward from the wound but the third demon had the chance to kick out with his heavy, boot clad foot and knock the angel across the room, landing painfully against a table full of books which reigned down on him when his body smashed the old table to pieces.

"Argh," Aziraphale cried out, the sword clattering from his hand.

"No one never said anything about you having the guts to kill demons," the third and only remaining demon said.

"No...I imagine not," Aziraphale gasped. "I...I rather surprised myself, actually. I don't much...go in for soldiering, really," he said, shoving aside broken bits of the table and books to stagger to his feet.

The demon kicked him down again and picked up a part of the broken table which was long and jagged, like a spike and lit the end with the lighter so that it blazed brightly with hellfire. He then pulled back his arm to stab Aziraphale with it, but he rolled out of the way and cried out again when he was forced to land on his injured wing.

"They'll gimme a commendation for this," the demon said, smugly and he stamped down his foot hard on the bleeding feathers. Aziraphale screamed as the demon just glared down at him, happily. "Might even make me a duke," it remarked.

In such pain, Aziraphale couldn't keep the glowing symbols alive any longer and they faded, they weren't doing much good now anyway. But it did allow free and easy movement for the snake which had slithered its way into the room with a hiss.

"Sssssssss," they heard.

Crowley had just managed to break free from his makeshift prison and was coiled tightly around the demon's feet. He wound his way up to the demon's neck and he impaled his venom coated fangs hard into the dirty flesh while he squeezed his body around his prey. The venom was poisonous, but he wasn't sure that it would kill a demon. But it did buy Aziraphale enough time to blindly grab his sword and stand up, shakily.

"Crowley, move," he yelled and the snake leapt off the demon just before Aziraphale stabbed the third and final demon. Then, for good measure, he cut off its head. Rather unnecessary, he knew, since it would already die from the stab wound, but he didn't fancy sitting around waiting for it to die; he wanted it over and done with now.

With the third demon now smouldering in two separate piles of ashes, Aziraphale quickly extinguished the burning spike and then, dropped the sword and collapsed with a cry of pain. "Oh...Almighty, forgive me," he muttered, breathing heavily.

"'Zira!" Crowley exclaimed, "Oh, Go...Satan...For ssssomeone'sss sssake...are you ok?!"

"I...I...destroyed...three demons..." the angel muttered, closing his eyes.

"Aziraphale..."

"Oh god..."

"'Zira, you're bleeding! You need to heal your wing!" Crowley said, slithering over to him and nudging him with his head and tail.

"I..."

"Aziraphale!" Crowley yelled as loudly as he could. "Wing. Heal. NOW!" he yelled.

"...I...Yes..." the angel nodded weakly and his wings began to glow, a pitiful imitation of the light they had emitted earlier but it was just enough to heal the bullet holes. Unfortunately, the feathers that he'd lost from the wounds would have to regrow on their own, but they'd probably be alright by the next morning.

"Anything elsssse? Anything broken?" Crowley demanded, looking at his friend.

"Bruised...not broken," Aziraphale sighed, slowly opening his eyes. He remained lying down and moved his head to look for where he'd dropped the sword. "Don't touch...that sword. It'll...kill you. Holy Water...blessed..." the angel explained.

"Oh."

"Not...for...against you," Aziraphale assured him, quickly. "You said you'd be in trouble for...Ligur, was it? So I...I got it in case...you needed...insurance."

"Oh...erm...thanks," Crowley said, surprised.

"Wasn't expecting...any of them them to come here though."

"Me neither."

"I'll have to...contact Gabriel about it, I suppose," Aziraphale grumbled, "Later."

"You put me in a box," Crowley remarked after a moment when the angel had calmed enough to breathe normally.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, my dear," the angel said, looking at him with remorse. "But if they'd gotten past me..." he shuddered.

"Hmmm...sssssss," the snake grumbled.

"Can you forgive me?"

"...Guesssssss ssssso," Crowley mumbled. "You got sssshot saving usss, ssssso it'sss only fair," he said, curling up carefully between the angel's wings and his body. "You alright?" he asked, again.

"I'm fine," Aziraphale replied, brushing his hand against the snake.

"Ssssshouldn't feel guilty or anything about it, y'know. Angelssss 'ssssmite' demonsss all the time and your lot get commendationssss for it. And they would've killed you, no question about it. You were defending yourssssself."

"I know...I do know that but...well, it's not in my nature to be...well, logically, I know I was created with capability of defending myself, I **was** the guardian of the Eastern Gate. I **was** made to be a solider, I've just never really felt like one," Aziraphale confessed.

"Well, you did a damn fine job," the snake replied, looking around at the still smouldering piles of ashes. "Good riddance, I ssssay. No one in Hell'll care they're gone, trust me. Demonssss don't. It'ssss not like you're the first angel to ssssmite a few demonssss. Now, if I'd done it, then there'd be trouble."

"Yes," Aziraphale sighed, still sounding guilty about it. "I just wasn't expecting...it's quite different thinking about it in the middle of it all and then afterwards," he said.

"If anyone findssss out just say it wasss me then, I don't care."

"No, you're right. You'd be in more trouble than I would. Heaven does give praise for destroying demons. Though I doubt they give me any."

"They ssssshould. Never sssseen anyone take out three demonsss before. Remind me not to get on your bad sssside, angel," Crowley told him.

"Well..." Aziraphale blushed at his friend's honest praise. "I doubt we'll be brought back if we're discorporated again and I don't intend on leaving this world just yet. We're on our own now, so whether I want to or not, I can't just sit idly by anymore. So...I made those wards...got that sword...though I'd hoped I wouldn't need them."

"Us against Heaven and Hell, huh?"

"I pray not," the angel said, concerned, "I was worried I'd forgotten how to fight. I've gotten too used to being...soft. Three demons is more than enough to be going on with, thank you," he mumbled.

"Didn't look like you forgot anything from what I saw," Crowley replied and the angel gave a sardonic smile.

Aziraphale slowly stood up and waved his hand, miracle-ing away the ashes of the demons and setting the shop to rights, mending the furniture and books. Then he ruffled his wings, checking to make sure that he'd healed them enough and then, they too vanished. The blinding, white light from the windows also began to face and the 'open' sign on the door, switched to 'closed.'

"That's quite enough excitement for one day, I think," the angel declared. He picked up his fallen sword and then, the demon's lighter, examining it, carefully.

"What'ssss that?"

"A lighter...that spews hellfire," Aziraphale answered.

"Huh. Haven't seeeen one of thossse in a while. Keep it, might come in handy."

Aziraphale nodded in agreement and then made his way into the back room. He stowed the sword and the lighter into the chest and hid it under books and papers and, for then tossed himself onto the sofa, closing his eyes.

"I'm not thanking you for ssshutting me in that box...or thinking I can't protect myself...but thankssss, angel. You sssaved our hidesss," Crowley said, slithering up onto the sofa. Even in his humanoid form, Crowley wasn't convinced that he could take on three demons all at once, he'd had enough with two. "I'm glad you're on my ssssside," he muttered.

"**Our** side," Aziraphale corrected him, "Remember?"

"Yeah...go team Crowley."

"Team what?" the angel spluttered, opening his eyes and blinking at his friend.

"Well, we can't be Heaven, we can't be Hell, Purgatory issss already taken, sssso..."

"Ridiculous," Aziraphale shook his head.

"I'm not hearing a 'no'," Crowley chimed.

"No, you ludicrous creature, no!" the angel mocked.

"Whatever. Anyway...more importantly...I think it'ssss time you learned about one of humanity'ssss greatest inventionssss," Crowley said in his best, sultry and velvety tone.

"And what's that, my dear?"

"Ssssssleep. You earned it."

"It's the middle of the day, and I don't sleep. I never sleep."

"You'll like it, trussst me, angel. It'll do you good."

"I really don't..."

"Closssse your eyessss," Crowley hissed, frustrated. He dropped part of his long body over Aziraphale's eyes and the angel spluttered in shock.

"Crowley!" the angel exclaimed.

"Ssssssshhhhh," Crowley murmured, dragging a blanket up off the floor, with some difficulty using his mouth and draping it over his friend. He was still able to swat away the angel's hand when he tried to lift the snake off from his eyes. "Go to sleep," he commanded.

"But if more demons come after us..."

"I'll wake you," the snake replied, quickly. "Or I'll ssstrangle them. Either way. Besidessss, I don't think they will."

"But..."

"Sssssleep, angel, you're done in. How long'ssss it been ssssince you were in any kind of a fight?"

"Erm...probably not since Camelot," Aziraphale admitted, still trying, and failing to move the snake off his eyes.

"Well, then you had a good run for a thousand years. Time to start over again. I bet those bruissesss of yoursss sssmart, don't they?"

"Well...a little."

"And you used up too much energy to heal 'em?"

"I..."

"Sleep'll help. Trussst me."

"But..."

"Go to ssssleep, goddamit..." Crowley hissed. "Geez, it was easier making that kid Warlock go to sleep every night than you," he said, "Don't make me hiss a lullaby. Sssnakes can't carry a tune."

"No...no, I need to to contact Gabriel," Aziraphale shot up.

"'Zira!"

"I'll try and sleep afterwards, I promise," the angel said, pulling back the rug which revealed the elaborate, white circular design on the floorboards. He began placing and lighting candles around it and stood in front of it, sighing. "Best that you stay out of sight, really," he told Crowley.

"Anyone'd think you were asssshamed of me," the snake mocked him, but the sarcasm was lost on Aziraphale who, naturally took it literally.

"No, of course, not, it's only..."

"I know, I know," Crowley shook his head. "Jusssst playing. Relax. It'll be like I'm not even here...sssssee," he said, hiding himself under the blankets again, unmoving and silent.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, turning back to the circle. He always felt quite silly talking to it when there was nothing like, but he did so anyway. "Erm...hello, it's Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern gate, Angel of the Ninth choir...and...Principality on Earth, at least I think I still am, anyway. I need to speak to Archangel Gabriel, it's rather urgent...please," he said.

The lines on the floor began to shine and inside the circle there emerged a pale blue light and small, twinkling stars. After a moment, Gabriel replied.

"Aziraphale?" the Archangel asked, sounding confused. Unlike when he'd spoken to Metatron, Gabriel's face wasn't hovering eerily in front of him, that only ever happened with 'The Voice of the Almighty.'

"Yes...hello, Gabriel...it's been a while."

"Not long enough," Gabriel replied. "What do you want?" he asked, non too happy.

"It's rather urgent, you see, I felt I had to notify you immediately."

"About what?"

"I was just attacked in broad daylight by three demons..."

"And you're still alive?" the Archangel sounded surprised. "What happened to them, then?"

"They're...dead," Aziraphale said.

"You mean discorporated?"

"Erm...no. I mean dead."

"Hah! Oh, well done, Aziraphale. Maybe I underestimated you," the archangel said. His demeanour changing now. "Wait until everyone hears about this. There'll be a commendation for this regardless of...previous events. Three demons at once...that's enough to give everyone something to..."

"That's very generous I'm sure," Aziraphale said, "But I'm not after a commendation. I need to know if they were acting alone or if there's likely to be any retaliation over this."

"Well, we've dispatched demons before and I can't say there was ever much trouble afterwards. They're not particularly bothered enough about each other for that. So, I wouldn't worry about it and it's three less of them to worry about, so I say, well done."

"Please, Gabriel, I need to know for sure," Aziraphale begged him.

"Alright, alright, fine, I'll enquire," Gabriel sighed.

"Thank you. One of them I think was called 'Hastur', the other two, I don't know about. There was...one other thing I've wondering about...since you're here, well not here, here but..."

"Well, what is it?"

"I'm still receiving orders as Principality to carry out. After what happened..."

"After you survived Hellfire, you mean?"

"Yes, that. I was wondering, am I...exiled? What exactly am I?"

"We voted in favour of exiling you and cutting off all communications, but we were...overruled...by the Almighty, of all beings," Gabriel said. "I don't know why. She just said it was Ineffable and that we were to keep sending you orders and leave it at that. Destroying three demons will work highly in your favour if you were planning on working your way back into our good graces."

"I was merely defending myself, I wasn't planning on making a habit of it."

"Shame," the Archangel replied. "That all?" he asked.

"Err...yes, thank you," Aziraphale nodded, "Goodbye," he said and the light faded. "That went surprisingly better than I expected," he remarked after it was gone.

"Told you, angel, commendation," Crowley said, emerging from his hiding place.

"Don't sound so smug, dear. I don't want praise for causing...destruction."

"They were demonsss."

"You're a demon!"

"Sssso? It'sssss not like we're all one big happy family down there. If angelsss can't manage to like each other, what makesss you think demonsss can? I'm not going to loosssse any sleep over it, angel, and neither sssshould you."


	11. Love

Aziraphale smiled as he handed a suspiciously book shaped present over to a young woman across from his shop counter. He'd wrapped it in tartan paper in red and green and there was a neatly tied ribbon around it too.

"I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of wrapping it for your young man," he explained.

"Wow, thanks," the girl, Evelina smiled at him. "And thanks for all your help, Mr. Fell. I really don't know anything about books like Tom does," he said.

A few week ago, she'd walked into the shop looking completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books there and the ever helpful, though reluctant bookshop owner had asked if he could help. Her boyfriend, she claimed was a book lover but she had no idea what book to buy for his Christmas present. So, over a nice pot of tea, he'd sat listening to the girl talk about the young man in question to find out what he might like. He'd told that he in fact did have a book that might be of use to her, but that it was old and falling apart, so he'd asked her to return when he'd had a chance to restore it. He'd done so and wrapped it for her.

"I do hope that he likes it," Aziraphale said.

"Me too," she gave a nervous smile.

"Is that him...across the street?" the angel asked.

"Yeah...how'd you know?"

"You described him perfectly," he answered, "He's looking over here very expectantly."

In fact, when two people were in love, angels if they chose, could sense it. Aziraphale could see a pale glow linking the two of them together and the inherent Heavenly light that was always present with him, seemed to shine just a little brighter.

"Here goes," the girl said, taking the book, and reaching in her bag for her purse.

"Oh no," Aziraphale held up his hand. "Consider it a gift. I rarely find people who truly appreciate books and if this one has found a good home, then I need'nt ask for more," he said.

"But I can't..."

"I insist."

"Oh...thank you," she beamed. Before she left, she stopped and turned back. "Do you like art, Mr. Fell?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," he answered.

"Remember I told you I do some work for a gallery? Well, there an exhibition coming up, opening night. Some of my work is going to be there...I've been worrying about it for ages. I can get you some tickets if you like," she said, "It'd be nice to see a friendly face there."

"How wonderful, I'd be delighted," Aziraphale smiled back.

"How many?"

"Two will be lovey, thank you," she nodded and left.

Across the road, the angel watched the girl hand over the present to a young man with dark hair and smiled as they kissed.

"Match making now, are we?" Crowley asked, slithering over to the angel.

"Of course not," Aziraphale said. "They're already in love. They don't need any encouragement. It's nice to see that even though they're capable of truly terrible things...that they still have the ability to love one another," he said, contentedly.

"Don't think it's 'love' on that kid'ssss mind...well...a kind of 'love' maybe, but not the kind you're probably thinking of," the snake replied, snickering.

"Don't be so crude, my dear. Don't you know love when you see it? Look at them. Look at her eyes...look at his. You should have seen the way she spoke about him. It was beautiful," Aziraphale gave a happy smile.

"Ssssure," Crowley hummed at him. "They're gonna go home and just make lovey dovey eyes and talk about how much they 'love' each other all night. Jusssst keep telling yourssself that," he said, sarcastically.

"Well, of course they won't. I'm well aware of what humans...err...do," the angel blushed.

"I thought your lot ssssay lusssst issss a ssssin."

"Not if they love each other," Aziraphale said, still blushing.

"Sssso many of them are sssso easily tempted into it though. It'ssss not always about 'love', angel."

"I know. A shame really."

"Doessssn't really matter anyway. Either way it'ssss fun," Crowley said in an offhand manner and Aziraphale stammered as he stared down at the snake.

"You've...I mean, you've...with a human?"

"Well, what else? Demonsss ssstab you the sssecond you let your guard down. Although, I did ssssee a sssatantic ritual once where a woman did sssome really ssstrange thingssss with a horsssse and then there was a man with a..."

"Yes, thank you for that charming anecdote, Crowley," Aziraphale stopped him and Crowley laughed at him.

"Ssssso...in 6,000 yearsss you've never once..."

"I...I'm an angel!" Aziraphale stammered, embarrassed, "We're not meant to go around..."

"Not even once? Ever? In 6,000 yearsss?" Crowley pressed and coiled around Aziraphale's right leg. "Come on...who'm I gonna tell?" he whispered.

"Well...I..."

"Yesssssss?"

"No, no, we're not having this conversation," Aziraphale shook his head.

"Don't be ssso childissssh, angel. Tell me...you know you want to."

"Stop it, you old serpent," the angel said.

"Aren't we friendssss?"

"Well...yes."

"Friendssss tell each other thingsssss, don't they?"

"Well..."

By now, Crowley had managed to get his right up next to Aziraphale's face and he teasingly flicked his forked tongue next to the angel's ear. "Ssssso?" he reiterated.

After a moment, Aziraphale's embarrassment had faded leaving a deep sadness on his face and Crowley couldn't help but notice it. "No, Crowley. Please don't ask me again...at least not until I'm drunk," he said, suddenly sounding old and tired, "Very drunk."

"Erm...okay...ssssorry," Crowley murmured, not quite sure what he was apologising for, but feeling the need to say it even if he couldn't quite explain why.

Aziraphale managed to smile at him. "The girl from earlier," he began after a moment, "She offered us tickets to an art gallery. Would you like to come with me? You said you've been feeling stronger lately. There's plenty of time for the binding spell to wear off before then."

"...Will there be an open bar?"

"Oh, honestly," Aziraphale sighed at him.


	12. Shedding

"Crowley?!" Aziraphale yelled in exasperation.

"Wha? What'sss ruffled your featherssss?" the snake demanded, not moving from his warm spot by the fire.

"Again, Crowley. That's a 300 year old rug, must you keep shedding your skin all over it?" he sighed.

Left to crinkle and crack in the middle of said antique rug was the remains of Crowley's latest skin that he'd shed. Usually a snake would shed its skin over a period of a few weeks, and not nearly as often as Crowley did. But he claimed that it kept his skin looking shiny and smooth and he could choose to shed it whenever he wanted in about an hour.

"I'm a ssssnake, angel, I have to sssshed my sssskin."

"Not all over my rug, you don't!" Aziraphale replied, looking for all the world like a child not getting his way.

"Just miracle it away and have done with it."

"I can't keep using miracles to clean up after you. if head office finds out..."

"They don't care," Crowley said, dismissively.

The angel sighed again and waved a hand over the rug which cleaned itself in an instant. "Should you really shed so much skin? Surely snakes don't..."

"Normal ones don't. But normal animalsss are ssstupid," Crowley answered dismissively. "Bessssidesss...feelsss nice," he claimed.

Aziraphale just threw up his hands in frustration.


	13. A Tartan Christmas

"Delivery for err...Mr. Fell?" a non descript delivery man greeted the angel as he opened the door to his shop.

"I didn't order...well, anything, I'm afraid," Aziraphale replied, confused.

"Just doin' my job, sir," the man shrugged and began unloading several boxes from his van and dropping them in the shop. One was quite a large box and there were half a dozen smaller ones as well.

"But I..."

"Sign here," the delivery man then shoved a clipboard in his face and Aziraphale stammered.

"B...but I..."

"I got another 30 drop off's to make today, you wanna hurry it up a bit."

"Err...right..." Aziraphale murmured. He signed the sheet, gave back the clipboard and was left with a pile of boxes in his shop, none of which he had ordered. "Oh, dear," he sighed.

"Oh, good, they're here!" Crowley slithered in.

"What? You mean this is all your doing!" the angel asked him.

"Yeah, and it wasn't easy either. That computer of yoursss belongsss in the dark ages and it'sss actually really hard to do anything like that when you don't have any handsss," the snake remarked.

"Crowley...what..."

"Open that one, go on."

Aziraphale took a deep breath before he opened the largest box and found that it contained a neatly packed Christmas tree. "Oh, good Lord," the angel sighed.

"Don't you like it?"

"Crowley, you know I don't...this has nothing to do with the true spirit of Christmas. This is...consumerism gone mad..."

"I know, issssn't it great?!"

"No!"

"Lighten up, angel. Yoursss issss the only ssshop in the whole ssstreet, probably in the whole county, that doesn't have any decorationsss anywhere and pretty sssoon, people'll ssstart calling you Sssscrooge...isss that what you want?"

"I celebrate Christmas without this...gaudy display, every year," Aziraphale protested.

"Yeah, like a monk. You ssssing hymnsss and help at a church," Crowley replied.

"Five churches. And I'll have you know that I love this time of year just as much as anyone else but it used to be about faith and love and now the focus is...money. I want no part of it."

"Ssssscrooge," Crowley hissed mocking at him. "Come on, angel, live a little. Have sssome fun," he said.

"By decorating a tree, imported over a hundred years ago, that has nothing to do with the origins of..."

"Oh, pleasssse, ssstop being a walking encyclopaedia and help me decorate a tree. You were tryn'a make a Christmas pudding the other day and that's got nothing to do with the 'original spirit of christmas' either, does it?"

"Well...not necessarily...but...well, they're really rather scrumptious," Aziraphale blushed.

"Y'know...I sssaw on the internet that there'ssss a competition on the ssstreet. Bessst display gets a nice little rossssette...Aaaaand...a huuuuuge Christmas pudding already made. And look what I got," Crowley said in a sing-sing tone. He slithered head first into one of the smaller boxes and emerged with a red piece of tinsel wound around him and with a tartan covered bauble hanging from his mouth.

"Is that...tartan?" Aziraphale asked, blinking down at him and his friend nodded. "I...do like tartan..." the angel pursed his lip. Crowley dropped the bauble at Aziraphale's feet and tipped over another box out of which fell more tartan covered decorations and a few stockings as well. "You...but you hate it," the angel said.

"But you don't," Crowley replied, smugly.

"...The prize is a Christmas pudding, you say?"

"It'sssss huge and probably very, very deliciousssss."

"Oh...alright, you win," Aziraphale sighed, watching Crowley hiss triumphantly.

* * *

The tree Crowley had bought, when it was released from its box, seemed somehow to grow twice as large and Aziraphale despaired that it would crush his beloved books underneath its festive branches. At first he was quite reluctant, but within ten minutes, he was acting like a child. Each decoration needed to be inspected very carefully before it was added to the tree and each one needed careful deliberation before he was happy with its placement.

"God, thisss isss gonna take all year at thissss rate," Crowley bemoaned.

"But my dear fellow, it has to be perfect!"

"There's gonna be so many thingssss on this tree when we're done with it, it'sss not gonna matter where it all issss."

"This was your idea."

"I didn't know it wasss gonna take you thissss long. I..."

"A snake?" Aziraphale remarked, staring at the glittering golden serpent hanging from a piece of thread that he just took out of a box.

"Ssssnakes are great, who doesnt love ssssnakessss? Besssides, I was there at Bethlehem with everyone elsssse, but there'sss never any sssnakes in thosssee nativity thingsss, is there?" Crowley replied.

"That's true."

"Anyway I got little angelsss, too."

"Oh, so you did," Aziraphale smiled, finding one of the angel decorations, "How lovely. You know, this really was a nice idea, Crowley," he admitted.

"Be even nicer when you win that huge Christmas pudding, eh?"

"You mean, when 'we' win that Christmas pudding, don't you?"

"Yeah, ssssure, angel, that'sss what I meant."

* * *

"I think it looks really rather beautiful," Aziraphale said, admiring their handy work on the finished tree. It was a mishmash of tartan, tinsel, glitter and mismatching decorations ranging from snakes to angels and reindeer and small ribbons but it did actually look beautiful.

"Can't believe you've never done this before," Crowley remarked, "I'd've thought it'd be right up your ssstreeet."

"Well, I thought...that it was merely out of control consumerism. I'd never thought that it could be quite so much fun."

"Wait till the Boxing Day sales...people get trampled...shop windows get smashed...It'sss gonna be great," the snake replied and the angel sighed.

* * *

"Well...it looks rather splendid...but do you think it's a bit much, perhaps?" Aziraphale asked, standing back to admire his work again.

On Crowley's instructions, he'd lined each of the large windows on the inside with tinsel and lights as well as the smaller window on the front door and the pillars on the outside were wrapped in tinsel too.

"Nah," Crowley replied, "There'sss ssstill some left, anyway."

* * *

"Here's to a job well done," the angel smiled, raising his mug of cocoa when they were finished and sitting by the fire. The fireplace, also lined in festival tinsel just like everything else and it also had two stockings hanging from it; one in bright tartan and one in black.

"To firsssst prize," Crowley said. "That coffee place across the road doesssn't ssstand a chance now," he added.

"Do you suppose they'll be angry?" Aziraphale asked, concerned.

"Nah."

"Because I really don't want that."

"No, you're right...they might up their game when they ssssee all thisss...which meansss we'd have to do the sssame. D'you think light up Santa'ssss and sssome reminder on the roof would do the trick?"

"Erm..." Aziraphale blinked.

"Ssssabotage!" Crowley hissed, "I love a good bit of sssabotage. I could sssneak over there at night and..."

"No, Crowley."

"Don't you wanna win?"

"Well, yes but..."

"Then needsss must."

"I'd really rather you didn't."

"You're no fun," Crowley sulked.

"You don't mean that...do you?" Aziraphale asked, staring over at him with a wounded expression.

The snake sighed and scrubbed his tail over his face, as though doing the same with his hand if he were human. "No, I don't...but..." he grumbled.

"Oh," the angel smiled, content.

"Fine...no sssabotage...yet."

"Thank you."

"Sssssss," Crowley hissed.


	14. To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

It had taken an attack by three vicious demons and getting shot and almost burned by Hellfire for Aziraphale to learn that sleep was actually quite a nice thing. In 6,000 years he'd never slept, not once but now for the second time in a week, he was happily dozing the night away in his hardly ever used bedroom above the bookshop. It was just like every other room in the building; poorly lit and filled with books and antiques. The bed was a huge antique, four poster with hanging curtains and covered in soft blankets.

Crowley had been pleased that his tempting had worked, only there was one thing he hadn't foreseen and that was just how bored he would be with no one to talk to. He was still stuck as a snake, unable to leave the shop and with Aziraphale asleep, he was left tapping his tail on the floor in boredom.

Eventually, he'd abandoned his cosy spot by the fire and slithered up to the angel's bedroom, then up onto one of the intricately carved posters and onto the mattress. He was flicking his tail gently on Aziraphale's face, smirking as the angel's nose twitched and he sneezed. Again, he moved his tail over the angel's closed eyes and across his nose and hissed, laying as Aziraphale's face morphed into one of comic annoyance.

"Aziraphale," he whispered, "Azzzzzzziraphale...this issss your conscience ssspeaking."

"...Mmmm..." the angel mumbled, still sleeping.

"Aziraphale," Crowley tried again, "Azzzzzzziraphale...thissss issss the voice of God. Do as I command."

Still being met with no response, Crowley tapped his tail against the angel's forehead.

"N...no, no, I don't want...that one...got that...book," Aziraphale muttered tossing a little in his sleep.

Crowley slithered over the bed so that his head was right beside the angel's ear and his long, serpentine body was draped all over his friend. "What're you dreaming about, Azzzzziraphale?" he purred, "Jussssst booksss?"

"...Books," the angel echoed, happily and Crowley chuckled.

"Nothing elssssse?" he asked but his only response was a contented smile.

With little else to do, Crowley decided to stay where he was and soon found himself dreaming as well, although his dreams had nothing to do with books.

* * *

Several hours later, Aziraphale awoke to find a large yellow eye right next to his head and his sleep addled brain struggled to find a reason for it.

"Morning, book brain," Crowley said.

"...Erm..."

"**You** dream about booksss," the snake remarked.

"I..." the angel yawned and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "Yes...yes, I do," he admitted, "How do you know about that?"

"You talk in your sssleep, too."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale blushed. "Is that normal?" he asked.

"Sssssometimesssss," Crowley answered. "You ssseem to have got the hang of it pretty quick...ssssleeping, I mean. Not ssso bad, is it?"

"Well..."

"I won't tell anyone," Crowley smirked.

"W...what exactly are you doing here...in my bedroom...in my bed?"

"I got lonely," the snake said, smugly as he shrugged, if a snake could be described as doing so.

"Erm..." Aziraphale really had no response to that remark.


	15. Penny and Eric

One afternoon, a young woman and her great grandmother visited the bookshop. The younger woman, Ava was tall, pale and solemn and her elderly relative was sat in a wheelchair with her white hair arranged artfully in a bygone style and her eyes were a sightless grey. She was holding a large box on her lap and with her withered fingers curled around the corners.

At the time that they entered, Aziraphale had his back to the door and he was balancing a huge stack of books in his hands. He turned around when he heard them enter and then, he did something he'd never done before; he dropped the books. They clattered noisily to the floor and he stood there with his mouth agape.

"P...Penny?" he gasped.

"That sounds like Ezra," the old woman remarked. She was blind.

"Err...yes, I..."

"Ezra Fell?" she questioned, "Our Ezra?"

"...Yes," he nodded.

"Oh," she gave a happy smile, "Oh I am glad that you're..."

"P...perhaps you should come through," Aziraphale stammered and led them into the back room.

Ava wheeled the old woman to sit by the fire and Aziraphale sat opposite her. When she saw the snake, Crowley on the sofa she gasped, surprised. "That my err...pet..." Aziraphale explained, "He's quite tame."

"Pet?" Penny questioned.

"A snake, nana. A...very big snake."

"Oh," she chuckled, "Good lord, how odd. But then...you always were a rather odd man."

Crowley hissed in response and he looked confused as to why they had visitors. Aziraphale never invited people to the back rooms of the bookshop, at least not this part anyway. When the angel gave him a pointed look Crowley tilted his head and slithered over to the woman, giving a gentle hiss and lightly touching her hand. The old woman startled for a moment but then she smiled curiously and ran her hand over Crowley's head.

"He seems to agree with you," the angel remarked.

"Oh, he's a charmer," she remarked.

"And he knows it," Aziraphale smirked.

"I'll be out front if you need me," Ava said to her grandmother, gently putting her hand on the old woman's shoulder for a second. She then whispered something into her ear.

"Would you lock the door, please and turn the sign over?" Aziraphale asked her and she nodded before she left them. "Would you like some tea, Penny?" he asked after a moment.

"No, thank you, no," she answered. "I'm afraid I can't stay long. Doctors orders," she mocked, "Anyone would think I was in prison sometimes."

"Oh...I'm sure they mean well," Aziraphale replied.

"You probably have enough of that yourself; we're not as young as we once were. Are we?"

"Erm...no."

"When was the last time we saw each other?" Penny asked, "Do you remember?"

"1932...Brighton," he said, "On the pier."

"Yes. That wonderful dinner party. You played the piano for us so beautifully. Eric and I...and you. You and he were always thick as thieves together," she said, delicately.

"How is he?" Aziraphale asked, eagerly.

"...Gone," she said, her happiness fading.

"Oh dear," he sighed in understanding. "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry. He was...a good man," Aziraphale said.

"The best," she nodded.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when he...I didn't know."

"You couldn't have been. Eric...he...passed in his sleep," she replied, "Quite...unexpectedly six years ago."

"I'm truly sorry."

"My doctors say..." she began after a shaky inhale. "That I'll be lucky if I survive another week myself," she said and Aziraphale looked heartbroken again. "Bad heart, they say," she explained.

Now that he focused his senses on her, he could tell that she was right. Positive emotions were much easier for him to sense and he never had to try, but knowing that someone was nearing the end of their life wasn't something he liked to know so he shut that part of his senses away.

"Oh, Penny," he sighed.

"Ava told me...that you...she was expecting an old man, you see," Penny said, "I told her that you were a friend from the old days...nothing else. But she says you're not nearly as old as me. She probably thinks I've gone senile, poor girl."

"W...well, I..."

"Can I...see you?" she asked, holding out a shaking hand.

It took him a moment to understand what she meant and then he slowly stood up. He knelt beside her and grasped her small hand with his own and then pursed his lip. Then, he placed her hand on the side of his face and she gasped, shaking on feeling the smooth, soft skin. "How...how are you...how..." she muttered, touching his cheek, his forehead, his nose and then moving her hand over her own mouth in shock.

Aziraphale just looked at her silently with a melancholic smile. "But that was...so many years ago...It **is** you, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me," he assured her.

"Oh," Penny shakily breathed, her eyes watering.

Aziraphale gently laid his hand over her eyes and then left it there for a moment before he drew it back and then she really did weep. He'd restored her sight but it wouldn't last long. She could see for the first time in thirty years.

"Hello, Penny," he said, smiling.

"How did you...oh, I can see," she stared at him and didn't take her eyes off him.

"I'm...afraid it won't last long, strictly speaking I could get into a lot of trouble for..." Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively.

"You look...exactly the same...exactly," she noted.

"So do you," he replied and she scoffed. "No, I mean it," he insisted, "To me...and to anyone else that matters, you...will always be...you."

For a while she simply stared at him and then, he gestured at the box she was holding. "Eric...you know...he kept at it, right to the end," she said, "This was the last book he...it was the last one. I've been telling myself that one day I'd..come and find you and...well, here, he wanted you to have it."

"Me?" Aziraphale asked and she nodded.

He took the box from her, removed the lid and gently took out the book that was inside; it was old and worn, the binding faded and stained with time. "Oh," the angel smiled, "He found it. How did he..."

"A charity shop, or so he said. He came home so happy, so smug...said he was going to go off and track you down you first thing in the morning...but that was the day he..." she trailed off.

"Ah," he sighed, putting down the book.

"I couldn't face...so I put it away," Penny said.

"Penny, I..."

"Do you remember...all those years ago...what happened on the pier that night..."

"...I remember," he replied, suddenly sounding wary.

"I'm dying, Ezra," she stated, calmly. "My husband is gone, my son is gone all of my friends are gone. But I still dream about what I saw that night. I need to know before I join them...what happened? What...who...are you?" Penny asked, tentatively.

Aziraphale sighed and stood up, wringing his hands and fidgeting. "I...can't answer that," he said.

"That night on the pier...it was you, wasn't it? I didn't dream it?"

"What...what do you remember?"

"Well," she began. "There was a storm...the sea was...vile...there was lighting, it struck the pier...Eric...he fell into the sea...the lights went out, it was so dark, I remember, everyone running and screaming and...then...fire. It...oh, it like a nightmare," she said, resting her head against her hand and her elbow on the arm of her wheelchair. "And you...you were there. They told me the sea was so bad that night with the storm that Eric should have been swept away and that it was a miracle that he was able to swim to safety. But...Eric couldn't swim," she said.

"Yes...erm...a miracle," he muttered, nervously.

"He was terrified of water. He was only on that pier because of me; he knew that I loved it."

"Yes..."

"I saw you," she said after a moment.

"What did you see?"

"You saved him. You had..."

"Yes?" he prompted her.

"Oh...it can't have been real...but here you are...you look the same, you...I can **see**!"

"I know you saw me that night," Aziraphale sighed, sitting back down on the sofa where Crowley rejoined him. "I knew that if...certain people ever found out, then they'd take those memories from you. Technically, I'm supposed to do that myself but I couldn't bring myself to do it. And that was the night that Eric proposed to you. He'd searched for that ring for months, it took him even longer to work up the courage to ask you. The...people that I work for...aren't always the most...well, I was worried that you'd forget everything. So...I left."

"Forget? Take my memories?" she reiterated, "How exactly...oh what did we get ourselves into?"

"It was safer for you both that way and don't worry, you're safe now. If they've done nothing for all these years, then they must still be unaware of it."

"That still doesn't answer my question though, Ezra...how did you...how can you do all the things that you can do?"

"I **can't** tell you," he emphasised.

"But..."

"But...you saw...if you said...what exactly it is that you believe I am, then..." he trailed off and she nodded, shrewdly.

"You saved Eric," she recounted. "I saw you...you jumped into the water and when you came back out everyone had made it off the pier. I stayed...I waited for you and Eric...when you made it back out, you had..."

"Yes?"

"...You...flew him out...and you had...wings," she remarked and he smiled at her, "I've never said it aloud before...it sounds...ridiculous, but I **know** what I saw. Tell me I'm not crazy. Please."

"You're not crazy, Penny," he told her. With a the gentle sound of rustling feathers, Aziraphale's white wings emerged from his back and for a moment, he stared at the floor before he turned his shining, silver eyes up at her. He had dimmed his usual heavenly light now so that she could see that he was glowing but not have to cover her eyes, humans couldn't look safely upon too much divinity after all. His halo was slightly visible too as if the wings weren't enough of an indication of his nature.

She was silent, a hand covering her mouth in shock and her breathing was shaky and uneven. "Penny?" he ventured and she let out a responding hum. "Penny...say something," he begged.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked.

"No."

"Am I...dead?"

"No."

"This is...those are...real?"

"Very much so."

"You're...an angel?" she breathed after a minute of silence.

"Yes," he nodded.

"My husband's closest friend...is an angel," she processed.

"Yes."

"The night my husband proposed...we had dinner...with all of our friends...and an angel played a waltz for us?"

"Yes."

"Eric... did he..."

"No," Aziraphale said. "He never knew," he admitted and his wings vanished.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "All this time...I'd tried to convince myself that it was all a dream," she mumbled.

"That was what kept you safe."

"We...we missed you. Both of us. You just...left."

"I had to. Please believe me, I didn't want to. I never meant to get so...entrenched in your lives, it's always difficult when I do and I've sworn before that I'd stop because it's always so painful for me when you..." he stopped himself. "Maybe it was safer for me too," he admitted and then, he suddenly raised an eyebrow.

He stood up and began looking around the room, spinning dizzily in a circle as he darted from one box to another desk drawer and finally settled in one that was filled with trinkets and knick knacks. "That's funny, I know I kept it here somewhere, can't leave these things lying around...just in case...I...aha!" he exclaimed, holding a small, silver photo frame.

It had been taken all those years ago and it was of the three of them; a younger version of the old woman, her husband and Aziraphale, all smiling happily at the camera. He then gave it to her, smiling.

"Oh," she gasped, "I remember this. Oh, look at us. Eric was such a handsome man. People used to think that he was a film star, do you remember?"

"And he'd blush and hide away until they left," Aziraphale laughed.

"Usually he'd hide behind you," she laughed back. "He never did like any attention. He was always happiest with his books. Oh, I miss those days."

"I never forgot...about either of you," Aziraphale assured her.

"Thank you," Penny replied, giving him back the photograph.

"He truly did love you," he said, "I felt it. I'm fairly good at...seeing those emotions in...humans. I hadn't seen two people so in love for a long time. Being around you two was...like a breath of fresh air in the morning sun after an endless night."

She gave him a grateful smile shed a shaky tear which he gently wiped away.

"Nana, we should be...ohhhh," Ava re-entered the room and saw the old woman's eyes. They had been returned to their former dark brown and she stopped, stunned. "I..." she blinked.

"It's alright, Ava," Penny assured her and the young woman slowly nodded then walked over to her. "I suppose," she said to the angel, "That this is..." she gestured to her eyes.

"Yes, I suppose I'd better...I'm sorry, if I could..."

"I've been blind for three decades now," Penny said. "I'll survive another week. But I am grateful for what you did..." she said, reaching out to hold his hand.

He sighed before he once again, knelt beside her, laid his other hand over her eyes and when he removed it, they were sightless.

"But..." Ava began to protest.

"It's alright, my dear," Penny told her, still looking at Aziraphale even though she couldn't see him anymore. "Come and visit me, Ezra," she insisted, kindly, "Before..."

"Before long," he finished for her and she nodded. "Merry Christmas, Penny," he said.

"Merry Christmas," she replied and then, they left.

* * *

"Well," Crowley began when they were alone, "That was...interesssting."

"...Yes," the angel sighed, staring at the photograph. He gave a sad smile before he prised his eyes from it and over to his friend. "And thank you, by the way, for not shocking her...anymore than I did," he said.

"Ssssshe took it quite well, really."

"She was always a remarkable woman," Aziraphale replied.

"Are you sure it's...wissse...to let that granddaughter of herssss walk around knowing that you're...different?"

"If Penny believes so, then yes. I trust her judgment."

"Alright," Crowley muttered.

"Aren't you going to say it?"

"Ssssay what?"

"A human saw my wings. I'm aware that it was reckless."

"I'm a demon, what do I care about rulesssss?" Crowley uttered back.

Aziraphale returned to staring at the photograph and gently stroked the frame with his thumb. It was over five minutes before he turned it over in his hand, hiding the image from view. "I need a drink," he declared.


	16. Snake In A Jumper

"Voila," Aziraphale exclaimed, happily displaying his work.

"Err..." Crowley stared at him, "Err..."

"What do you think?" the angel asked.

"It'sssss err...nicccce...what isssss it?"

"It's for you," Aziraphale said.

"Great, but I sssstill don't know..."

"It's a jumper," Aziraphale explained as though it was obvious. More accurately it was a very, very long, black, knitted wool, circular tube; a jumper for a snake needed no sleeves after all.

"Erm..."

"It's taken me all day to knit this, I fear I was a little out of practice and you really are quite a large snake," the angel said.

"You knit? What're you now my granny?"

"Don't be hurtful, my dear. Now, come along, let's see if it fits."

"Err..."

"I'm quite sure it'll be lovey and warm," Aziraphale offered and the snake hissed.

Telling himself that it was for the possibility of warmth and not the oh so hopeful expression on the angel's face, Crowley slithered head first into the 'jumper.' It was difficult and not at all dignified since he was such a large creature but eventually, his head emerged from the other side and he glanced down to examine the 'jumper.' It was extremely soft against his skin and Aziraphale had been right, it was very, very warm.

"Hmmm," the angel nodded in proud approval, "It fits nicely."

"'Ssss'soft," Crowley remarked.

"Do you like it?"

"Sssss..." Crowley curled in on himself, coiling his body in a circle and resting his head atop the wool covered coils. "'Sssss nicccce," he admitted.

"Oh, I am glad. The very kind lady who sold me the wool claimed that it was the absolute best, you know," the angel said, happily.

"Sssss," Crowley hissed, happily, "Thankssssss," he added, quietly.


	17. First Time For Everything

A.N. I really don't know where this one came from. I didn't start writing this story with anything like this planned but my only excuse is I couldnt sleep, it was 2am. I was binge watching the show again and David Tennant looked good even with the snake eyes. Insomnia...yeah. It's not all that explicit really, I'm bad at writing explicit, but I changed the rating anyway.

* * *

He'd only been out of the room for a minute to fetch another book aiming to return and take up his usual spot on the sofa next to his friend, still in serpent form in front of the fire. But when Aziraphale returned, he found Crowley still asleep, but not as a serpent anymore. He was lying quite awkwardly now with long limbs draped over the sofa, in his humanoid form.

"Crowley, Crowley, wake up!" Aziraphale shook his friend awake, gently but frantically.

"Wh...wh'sssssss'at..." Crowley grumbled back.

"Look, you're you again," the angel beamed at him.

"Huh?" the demon blinked and jumped up looking down at his hands. "Hahahahaha! I'm me, well human-ish me," he exclaimed, reaching up with his fingers interlaced high above his head and stretching. "Ooooohhhh, that feelssss goooood," he grinned.

"You're still hissing," Aziraphale noted.

"Well, I **have** been ssstuck as a sssnake for two weeksss, it'll passsss."

"Oh, I am glad you're back," the angel said. "I mean, you didn't go anywhere as such but..." he stopped and reached out to hug his friend.

"Hah hah," Crowley grinned, happily.

"This calls for a celebration," Aziraphale announced as he drew back.

"Well...I **have** abstained for a fortnight...let's get drunk," Crowley grinned.

"Right," Aziraphale agreed all too eagerly.

* * *

"Sssssoooo," Crowley began, drunkenly some time later. "Remember...'member when you ssssaid...when we were drunk...I could assssk you somethin'?" he asked.

"Did...did I?" the angel blinked over at him, refilling his wine glass unsteadily.

"Yeah...you did. Sssso...I'm going to assssk you now...okay?"

"Well...if I said it then...ask away, dear boy, ask away," Aziraphale said, now picking up his glass and waving it in a wide arc in front of him.

"Wasss about humansss..."

"Humansss?" Aziraphale copied the hiss, poorly.

"Yeah, them."

"What about humansss?"

"About what they do...y'know..."

"What they do? You mean...breathe?"

"Nooooooo."

"What then?" Aziraphale asked, confused.

"When they're all...y'know...kisssing and...touching...and..."

"Affec...affecti...touching?"

"Sex, angel, I'm talking about sssex," Crowley sighed.

"Oh, dear," the angel blushed. "Well...I...I prefer to call it...making love, 'ssss more poetic," he mumbled.

"Nothing 'poetic' about it," the demon scoffed, "'Ssss damn messssy, sss'what it isss."

"...From what I've seen, I'd have to agree with you," Aziraphale grumbled into his wine glass.

"Seen?" Crowley repeated.

"Well...they can be rather...careless when they're...otherwise occupied."

"Never tried it yourself, then?"

"Of course not!" the angel exclaimed, "M'angel."

"Sssssso wha? They're all God'ssss creatures...and all that...aren't you meant to love everyone and everything, you told me that."

"Yes, but not...not like that!"

"Y'know, I sssspent a few hundred years as an incubus...and then as a sucubus, all kinda blurred together really," he mused.

"You did...what?!" the angel exclaimed, shocked.

"Mmmm," he nodded, perfectly seriously. "Not that humans really needed any...y'know tempting into it, but Hell doesn't know that so I got a commendation for it. Three actually. Oh, this was...waaaaaay before the Arrangement...loooong long time ago."

"Did you ever...love any of them?"

"Nah, it was just a job. Fun, though," he snorted. "So...not even once? Not in 6,000 years?" he asked.

"No, indeed," the angel replied. "Well, there was...once...few thousand years ago...almost...but didn't," he broke off shrugging. "I...felt so guilty. We'd had a nice time together...he'd been so nice...I didn't realise he wanted to...until he kissed me. 'Fraid I rather lost my head about it. See, I'd never...he surprised me and..."

"What happened?" Crowley asked, sobering instantly when he saw that the angel was distressed.

"Surprised me...m'a creature of love...felt it from him when he touched me, too much...my light and my wings just...didn't even realise."

"...Oh," Crowley nodded in surprised understanding. "You went all Heavenly angel on him," he said.

"Yes," Aziraphale smiled sardonically. "I tried to tell him but...well, these were...superst...superstiti...strange times and he thought I was some kind of...monster...and he fled. Never saw him again. Figured it was best after that not to get erm too close again."

"M'sssssorry," Crowley sighed.

"Not your fault."

"Still ssssorry," the demon told him, "You know it wasn't your fault either, right?"

"...Maybe...maybe not. What's done is...done, dear fellow."

"People were ssstupid back then, ssstill are really."

"No they're not," Aziraphale lightly scolded him.

"Well, that bloke of yours was," Crowley retorted. "I mean, who's ssstupid enough to sssee an honest to Satan angel and call it a monster?" he scoffed, "Unless you count Gabriel...or Michael, or Uriel or...well, any _other_ angel."

Aziraphale gave him a nervous smile and noted that the demon looked frustrated, not at him, but for him. "Bloody humansssss," Crowley shook his head and the drinking continued in earnest, well, mostly for Aziraphale actually.

* * *

Some time later, Aziraphale was spectacularly drunk and almost catatonic while Crowley was stone cold sober; a rarity really. As had become their habit recently, they and been sitting in front of the fire on a mound of blankets and cushions when the angel had finally hit his limit before having a chance to sober up and Crowley had tried to wake him.

"Oi, angel," the sober Crowley nudged his friend awake with much difficulty.

"Hmmmm?" the angel hummed, his face buried in a pillow.

"Wings, spread 'em," the demon said.

"W...why?"

"Just do it," Crowley rolled his eyes.

Aziraphale grumbled under his breath and rolled onto his stomach so that his wings could rest on either side of him from his back. Crowley began to gently sift through the lustrous white feathers and the angel sighed.

"Wha're you doing?" he slurred.

"Preening," Crowley answered.

"Oh...err...why."

"Because I told you I would...and I owe you one."

"Oh...thanks," Aziraphale breathed, his eyes closed, contentedly.

"Don't mention it," Crowley replied, continuing his task. "Y'know your erm...your halo...it's err...I can see it," he remarked, turning his eyes away from the blinding light when it slowly emerged.

"Wha..."

"Your halo, angel," the demon said, "I can ssssee it."

"Oh...is...s'bothering you?" Aziraphale asked, sounding melancholy.

"No," he answered with a shrug.

"Really?" he asked, now looking at Crowley with drunken innocence.

"Sssure...it'ssss fine," Crowley said. Unlike a human, he could at least look at it without being blinded but it was slightly uncomfortable when it was so bright. It was almost like looking directly at the sun. He certainly wasn't going to call him a 'monster' like the man that Aziraphale had recounted to him.

"Y'really don't mind?"

"I really don't," he assured his friend.

"...Can't be...can't be good for...for your eyes though...y'r a demon, I mean...I'll...I'll...oh, I'm s...sorry, can't really...think very clearly...I..." Aziraphale murmured but he managed to make the halo vanish, mostly.

"You trust me, right?" Crowley asked.

"Of course," the angel answered. "I trust you...sooooo much...more than...more than...anyone."

"You should sober up before you pass out again," Crowley said but the angel shook his head.

"Mmmm...feels nice," Aziraphale hummed and lightly ruffled his wings.

"Yeah, well, sober up or I'll stop," Crowley threatened, albeit reluctantly, pulling his hands away from the angel's wings.

Aziraphale sighed and then the alcohol was gone from his system. He settled his hands under his chin, the manicured fingers interlaced. "Why did you make me do that?" he grumbled.

"You'd end up with a hangover and that's one human experience we don't need a repeat of," the demon answered, resuming his work. "Once was more than enough," he said, remembering the time that they'd both forgotten to sober up in Ancient Rome.

"...We were in Rome," Aziraphale recalled.

"Yeah."

"We'd had oysters."

"Yeah, we did."

"It was...nice."

"Yeah, it was," Crowley agreed.

"We can...mmmmm...oh dear...erm...we can go to dinner at the Ritz on Christmas Day now that you're back," Aziraphale remarked. He'd elicited a particularly embarrassing sound half way through his sentence when Crowley's hand had moved against the sensitive but strong joint of muscle where his right wing connected to his back. He closed his eyes, hoping that his friend wouldn't comment on it.

"Yeah, we can. We can go to the gallery thing tomorrow too, if you want," the demon said, managing to restrict himself to a only a silent smirk at the noise.

"Oh, is that...is that tomorrow?"

"Mm-hmm," Crowley nodded.

"Oh, good, we haven't missed it, I'd hate to have...mmmm..." the angel said, happily but trailed off with a moan when Crowley made the same movement on his wing again, only this time, deliberately. "Are you..." he coughed, embarrassed, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he demanded.

"What? Thisssss?" Crowley asked, innocently, doing the same thing now on both wings and the angel shuddered, his wings ruffling as well.

Aziraphale buried his face so that Crowley wouldn't see him and bit his lip, holding his breath. Of course, they didn't actually need to breathe, but they'd both become so used to the sensation that they did it without thinking now and it was not breathing that took more of on effort. What Aziraphale didn't realise was that his shining halo had become increasingly visible and it was a full minute before he managed to start breathing again. In the meantime, the smug demon had returned to actually preening his feathers.

"You're...you're meant to be preening! Not...not..." Aziraphale stammered, his hands still tightly clenched.

"I am preening. This is me...preening, ssssee," the demon replied, sweetly but Aziraphale sighed. "Is it my fault your wings are so sensitive? It's probably because you don't take care of them. They're not used to it. But they need to be cared for. They need attention, don't you?" he said in a patronising tone as if speaking to the wings rather than to his friend.

"You're enjoying this far too much," the angel's voice was slightly muffled since he still had his face partly hidden.

"Oh, and you aren't? Could've fooled me," Crowley scoffed, making the angel blush again. "You can tell me stop anytime, y'know," he added, smugly. Aziraphale pursed his lip but said nothing. "That's what I thought," the demon grinned as he smoothed down some large primary feathers.

"We've...we've never done this before," the angel noted, still sheepish.

"Noooope," Crowley drawled.

"You're really rather good at it," he added.

"Demon of many talents, me," he said, cheekily and Aziraphale let out a nervous cough.

"Err...what exactly...is it...that you're, err...doing?"

"I told you; I'm preening."

"Preening doesn't involve...well..." the angel trailed of, sounding like an embarrassed child.

"Why shouldn't it be enjoyable?" Crowley asked.

"B...because it's...its..."

"Jussssst relaaaaax, angel," the demon whispered, finding another sensitive area on Aziraphale's right wing underneath some smaller, downy feathers.

"B...but...ooooh, that's heavenly..." the angel breathed and then stopped. "I mean, I...no...but I...can't..." he stammered afterwards.

"Angels, you're all the same you lot. You're all so uptight, you wouldn't know how to relax if your eternity depended on it," Crowley said, fondly. "Come on, you saved my life lately, I'm just returning the favour," he said.

"This isn't how we...mmm...usually repay each other for...for things..."

"I'm not hearing any complaints."

"Ooooh...you're a...cruel old...serpent..." Aziraphale exhaled, his voice sounding the farthest thing from insulting or dissatisfied as it was possible to be.

"Less of the old," Crowley retorted.

"But we...we are old," the angel said.

"What issss it humans ssssay? 'You're only as old as you feel?' I don't feel old."

"I do," Aziraphale admitted.

"Well, this'll help," Crowley assured him and for good measure, he pressed down gently on the wing joints again, more forcefully than before and the angel reacted instantly.

Aziraphale's halo, and even the angel himself shone brightly, more brightly than he'd ever seen and this time, Crowley really was forced to turn his eyes away with a hiss of surprise. The light made his skin prickle and all he could hear was the angel muttering and moaning between his ragged, laboured breaths.

"Oh, dear sweet Almighty," Aziraphale murmured. He curled in on his side facing the demon, his wings falling limp to rest on the floor, suddenly feeling and looking exhausted, but content. He only just noticed now that he'd been clutching at the blankets he was lying on and he'd torn holes through them with his strong fingers. "Oh dear," he blushed. "Well, that was..." he stopped and instead of speaking, he smoothed down the soft blankets with a shaking hand. He took a deep breath and turned to venture a glance at the silent demon with his eyes wide.

When he saw the Crowley was rubbing his eyes and blinking, he frowned. "Is...something the matter?" he asked, his voice slow and laboured.

"Erm...light," Crowley replied, "It was, well, you were really, really bright for a minute there...not used to it."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry," Aziraphale exclaimed, pushing himself up, Crowley noted, on uneasy and shaky limbs. In fact, the angel almost fell back down when he rested his weight on one hand because he reached out with the other and he had to steady himself against Crowley. "Erm...apologies," he muttered. He laid a shaky hand over Crowley's aching eyes. "I'm afraid I was...erm...there," he blushed and moved his hand back after a second. "Better?" he asked.

"Better," the demon gave a grateful sigh when he could see normally again. "Never seen you glow before, not like that," he said, smirking when Aziraphale turned an impressive shade of red.

"Yes...well," the angel murmured, "I was...distracted."

"'Distracted', huh?" Crowley reiterated, dryly.

"...Erm..."

"That the first time you've ever actually...been 'distracted' or did you get that far with..."

"Yes, it was," Aziraphale murmured, hiding his face again, "And no we didn't."

"Oh, well, wings must be the same for everyone then," Crowley declared, leaning his back against the foot of the sofa. "That's usually what helps me relax anyway. Can't really reach the back as well though, I have to sort of reach round and..." he shrugged nonchalantly.

"You mean you did that on purpose?!"

"I wasn't planning it, if that's what you mean. I just knocked that bit at the back of your wing and I thought, after...I thought you could use a bit of a 'distraction'."

"Is that erm...a normal occurrence for demons to do that their friends? Because angels certainly don't..."

"Noooo," Crowley snorted. "Try that with a demon and you'll loose a limb. Demon on demon action looks more like bloody murder, if you ask me. Actually, most of the time someone does end up dead. Urgh," he shuddered. "I'm sworn off that for good, lemme tell you. Humans seem to do alright though," he said.

"So...it's a human thing, then?"

"Well, yeah I guess so," the demon said, "Some humans, anyway. I've met some pretty liberal ones."

"Oh."

"Probably should've asked before but erm...that's not a sin to your lot, is it?" Crowley asked, "'Cos if it is, I'll take the blame if anyone finds out. You angels are such sticklers, I didn't think just one little..."

"No," Aziraphale stopped him. "I may not have any erm...prior experience of the act itself, but I know enough to know that it wasn't a sin...I trust you and I can feel that your intentions are...well, you weren't intending it as a feather in your Hellish wing," he flushed.

"Err, right then."

The angel, still slightly flushed, settled back down on his side with one wing laying over him and the other, splayed out behind him. His eyes were closed and he rested his head on a soft pillow. "I feel quite relaxed now, I must admit," the angel noted.

"Yeah, that's...usually how it goes," Crowley replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Hmmmm," he hummed, "It was really rather nice, thank you."

"Anytime," Crowley replied and stood up. "I'm gonna get a drink. Wine, you want wine?" he helped himself to some of the red wine they'd left on the table earlier.

"I think I've had enough alcohol for one night."

"Fair point," Crowley conceded. He sauntered over to the gramophone and flicked idly though a pile of records before he settled on one of them and dropped the needle on it, filling the room with slow, dreamy piano music. "Relaxing enough?" he asked, pointedly.

"Now you're making fun of me," Aziraphale said, forcing open one eye to stare at him.

"I'm not, I wouldn't," Crowley retorted, holding up his hands. "Well, maybe later," he admitted and sipped at his wine.

"And I'll scold you for it...later," the angel replied, closing his eye again.

"Deal," he shrugged and sat back down against the sofa. "Are we gonna have to amend the Arrangement for this?" he mused. "We agree to more or less leave each other's jobs alone...and then get drunk and have a nice stimulating massage. Bit of a contradiction, that."

"Shhh," Aziraphale whispered, lightly swatting at the demons foot which he could just about reach with the tip of his wing.

"You are gonna be ssssoooo embarrassed when your bubble bursts," Crowley chortled, shaking his head, draining his wine glass.

* * *

It was the middle of the next day before Aziraphale woke up and he did so sluggishly at first. He stretched out his arms and his wings and then blinked and blushed.

"Morning, angel," Crowley greeted him from the sofa.

There was quiet piano music playing on the gramophone and the demon was idly flicking through a book. There was a half finished plate of food by his side, a muffin and a piece of toast left over which he was slowly picking away at. "You've got some pretty racy books here, did you know that?" he asked, "With pictures."

"I..."

"I mean this one..." he held up the book and tilted it every which way in front of him, "I don't even know how that's possible and I've been around the block a few times."

"Crowley..." Aziraphale swallowed, nervously.

"How in the..." the demon muttered to himself, still looking at the book. "Ohhhhhh, I get it...huh..." he grinned finally, "I'll have to remember that one."

"I erm...about...what happened..."

"Look," Crowley sighed, putting down the book reluctantly. "Before you go all shrinking violet again, you liked it, didn't you? That's all that matters. I worked as a sex demon, alright, there's literally nothing that can embarrass me about it anymore. So stop worrying."

"It's..." the angel murmered. "It's...just another job to you then?" he asked, "It didn't feel like that, at least not to me."

"What?" the demon furrowed his brow. "We've literally known each other since the begining, alright. We know practically everything there is to know about each other. Humans do more intimate things than what I did to you on a daily basis, sometimes without even knowing each other's names. I didnt ask you for anything in return, did I? I just wanted you to relax, okay, and forget about that...that stupid human. You've never drank like that because of one of them. You weren't even that bad when Mozart died. They're not worth worrying about, not to us. I'll admit I enjoyed it as a job but that was thousands of years ago, I'm...retired. So just do the decent thing and say 'thank you, Crowley, you're an amazingly talented demon, that was the best fucking thing I've ever felt and I'd like nothing more than to do it again right now'," he finished.

Aziraphale had stared at him with wide eyes through his impassioned rant and he could see that the demon was genuine. "I apologise for implying..." he began.

"Not what I wanted to hear," Crowley stopped him.

"Well, I refuse to curse," the angel said.

"You took your Lord's name in vain last night."

"I did?" Aziraphale looked shocked and Crowley nodded, "Oh dear."

"Everyone does," he shrugged.

"I wonder if She knows about that."

"Probably not. They're at it so often if She listened to all of them all the time, She'd end up with a permenant headache," Crowley replied and the angel couldnt help but snort in amusement. "So, you're good?" he asked.

"...Yes, thank you," Aziraphale said with a glowing smile.

"I can't help but notice you said no to the cursing and not to the doing it again, part," Crowley couldnt help but grin when the angel's smile was replaced with another embarassed blush. "I wouldn't have thought you'd get so easily embarrassed anyway, we've seen everything haven't we? You were in Rome, didn't you ever see an orgy?"

"I...happened to...accidentally...and actually seeing s...something..." Aziraphale stammered, "But that's rather different matter from actually..."

"Accidentally saw?" the demon grinned.

"Petronius told me it was a party, how was I supposed to know that 'party' meant...the other thing?"

"Hah," Crowley chortled. "Oh, you can't even say the word, can you?" he grinned, "Just say it, go on. Say 'orgy.' Another good word beginning with an 'o', I think you might know it, you had one earlier, matter of fact. It's an 'orgas..."

"Crowley, please," the angel exclaimed, blushing bright red. "That's enough," he said.

"Fine," Crowley relented, taking pity on his friend. "Anyway, just relax. It's not like we're the first friends to ever jump into bed together."

"We didn't exactly..."

"Figure of speech, angel."

"Ah."

"I honestly don't mind doing it again. 6,000 years is a hell of a long time to go without. What kind of a friend would I be if I didn't offer. You had to have at least thought about it. I know you spent some time with monks back before the Disolution but I never met a monk who wasn't just as sinful as everyone else. You said you've read every book in here, so you had to have read this one," he said, holding up the raunchy tome. "Looks like a pretty well read book too," he said, grinning and raising an eyebrow at the now, fully flustered angel.

"It was like that when I found it," the angel protested.

"Sure, angel, I believe you."

"I...erm..." Aziraphale stammered. "Doesn't this rather...complicate matters?" he asked.

"We're not children," Crowley replied, "You said you won't Fall because of it, so...you're fine, right?"

"Well...when you put it that way," Aziraphale pursed his lip and stood up, almost falling back over before he steadied himself with a hand against the fireplace. "Oh dear," he sighed.

"Still scrambled, eh?" the demon snorted, "I guess all that abstinence makes for a lot to process, eh? Well, either that or I'm just amazing."

"Will you please stop making fun of me?" the angel begged him and he shrugged back. "Thank you," Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief.

"Peckish?" Crowley offered, holding the plate of food he'd forgotten about. The angel seemed visibly relieved now that the subject was something other than his own embarrassment.

"Well...I could eat something, I suppose," he shrugged away his wings and took the plate, nibbling eagerly at the muffin first. "I thought, perhaps, I should go round to the church now that the spell has worn off. I really should see just what..."

"What this 'I' you keep talking about? You're not going there alone."

"Well, of course I am. If father Nichols sees you again he could cast something worse than a binding spell. We don't know what he's truly capable of. He knows me, he at least seems me as human, I'll be able to..."

"But you said you thought he was just another normal, weak human before this happened."

"I had no reason to suspect otherwise so I didn't bother to check," Aziraphale said, "I can't keep my senses on guard for every human I meet, there's so many of them I'd be exhausted."

"Well, what if he sees you're not human and sends a binding spell your way?"

"Then I'll be stuck as a being of pure light for a while," Aziraphale shrugged.

"So you won't freeze in the snow like me but people are gonna notice a big floating light in the middle of London!"

"...I see your point," the angel murmured, "But I'm still going. What about the girl you saved..."

"Not 'saved'," Crowley winded at the word. "Moved...from one place to another..." he said.

"The girl that you 'moved'...did she see you, your eyes? Anything to do with the binding spell?"

"I...don't think so."

"I'd better check then. What was her name?"

"I didn't ask for her life story, angel," he scoffed.

"Well, then what did she look like?" Aziraphale asked.

"Why don't you concentrate on standing upright before you go off on one. Sit down," Crowley scoffed, nothing the angel was swaying a little where he stood. He materialised a warm mug of tea and handed it to the angel. "Here," he said.

"Oh, thank you."


	18. Love or Desire?

To state an obvious fact; Angels were beings of love. They were brimming with it, but what most people tended to forget was that they were free to choose the subject of that love. Gabriel for instance, was said to be one of the greatest of all the angels, but the things he loved most out of both Heaven and Earth was a properly filled in and filed document, the prospect of triumphing over Hell regardless of the casualties, and a well tailored suit. There was nothing at all in that list that included the things that one would expect from an angel such as encouraging peace or saving lives or something of the like.

Aziraphale was rather different, or rather he chose to be different. He did in fact enjoy encouraging peace and tranquility regardless of the fact that he was ordered to do it. It wasn't thoughts of an efficiently run filing system, as in Gabriel's case, that fuelled Aziraphale's Heavenly light. It was the emotion of love itself. Over the years he'd gotten immensely good as sensing the love from others, an ability which other angels saw as rather pointless. He himself loved many things.

Now, demons were different. Demons were creatures of desire. After all, how better to bring about the downfall of their prey if they knew exactly what it is that they wanted most? It was an evolutionary trait, you might say, to help them to cut to the chase.

There was only a blurred line between love and desire, and demons were from the same stock as angels, so at least in theory, angels could feel desire and demons could feel love, right?

One angel in particular, was sat in his bookshop staring intently at one of his beloved books. It was an old book that had been left at his front doorstep in a box of others by someone probably just wanting to be rid of them, really no one appreciated things properly anymore. But this book in particular was one he hadn't though much of until just lately, though he couldn't explain why. He'd waited until his friend was asleep, curled up in a mountain of blankets to keep his serpentine body warm, and then, Aziraphale had dug out the book from where he'd hidden it at the back of his shop.

Currently, he was blushing as red as a ripe tomato as he examined a page by tilting his head one way and then another and then back again. He'd caught humans in the act before, he was 6,000 years old after all and some things were unavoidable. Adam and Eve hadn't been too bothered about privacy back in the Beginning because really, it hadn't been invented yet. Throughout the years, he'd seen it again and again and sometimes he could even sense that it was being done out of love.

It was only earlier that morning that he and Crowley had been discussing the subject after a young woman had given her sweetheart a Christmas gift; one of Aziraphale's books. And so there he was. Maybe he really was a poor excuse for an angel, he sighed.

Faced with this dilemma, was was a demon to do, other than slither his way through the bookshop towards the source? That source was a literal shining angel with his white wings splayed on either side of him.

Crowley couldn't help but smirk at Aziraphale's expression, it was a mix of bewilderment, embarrassment and desire. Crowley would bet his demonic soul on the fact that the angel was feeling particularly amorous and very confused by that fact. He was a demon, he'd be able to sense it from half a mile away, maybe every further considering just how much time he'd spent around Aziraphale over the years. Their friendship had been a long time in the making and though they'd both agreed to never use their 'emotional sensing abilities' against each other, sometimes, some emotions were too strong to shut out completely. Such as, right now.

There had been a few times over the last century or so that Crowley had sensed the fondness that the angel had for him and each time it was stronger than the last. This, though, was different. This wasn't just fondness and friendship. This was an emotion he was well acquainted with; lust. Aziraphale's desire was directed towards him. Not at the prospect of a new book that he'd never read, not for the thought of a finely aged wine or even an expertly prepared dessert. At him, a demon. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Crowley knew he'd been been fond of the angel since the Beginning. In his view, demons couldnt love, but they could be fond of things.

"What'ca reading, 'Zira?" the demon drawled.

Aziraphale startled comically and he juggled with the book for a moment before he managed to slam it shut and place it firmly on his lap with his hands crossed over it as though hiding it.

"Ah...errr...well...that is, I erm...nothing, nothing at all..." the angel stammered, fidgeting as Crowley slithered over to him.

"Sssssssooooo...'nothing at all' hasssss you blushing like a schoolgirl?" he teased.

"I'm not...blushing," Aziraphale protested, feebly.

"Sssssure you're not," Crowley retorted and curled his way up onto the sofa, watching as the angel moved the book away from him the closer he got to it. "It'ssssss not a book on how to kill and cook ssssnakessss, issss it?" he grinned.

"Of course not, I would never even consider..." the angel exclaimed.

"Then what issss it?" Crowley asked. He now rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and leaned over to the and glimpse the title of the book but the angel let out a quiet whimper and then, the book vanished. "Ssssspoil ssssport," Crowley whispered in his ear and Aziraphale shuddered.

"Don't...don't do that," he mumbled.

"Do what?" Crowley asked, innocently. His forked tongue brushed the skin on Aziraphale's ear again as he continued, "All I edit wassss assskwhat you were reading, angel."

"I...I...oh, dear...I mean, I...thought you said you wanted to sleep," Aziraphale said, clenching his jaw.

"I woke up."

"Well, obviously," the angel replied. He took a deep, shuddering breath as Crowley moved his serpentine head from the angel's right ear to his left by draping himself over Aziraphale' shoulders.

"Your fault," Crowley stated.

"I fail to see how you waking up from your nap is...in any way, my...fault."

"You were feeling sssssome pretty ssstrong emotions, 'Zira," he said.

"I...oh...that is..."

"Ssssso what were you reading? The ssssong of Ssssolomon? Karma Ssssutra?" he chuckled.

"No! It was nothing of the kind! I'm angel!" Aziraphale cried, still flushed.

"What? Ssssso angels can't read racy books? You said you've read practically ever book every written...that'ssss got to include some pretty naughty onessss. Mussssst've been a pretty graphic one too...you've been broadcasting more naughty thoughts than a porn channel."

"I was not!" the angel yelled and swatted his hand at Crowley's head, "How dare you even insinuate..."

"Don't get your featherssss in a twist, we both know you're lying," Crowley retorted, childishly, "I'm a demon. I know lust when I see it. It'sss nothing to be assshamed of, y'know."

"Of course it is. Not that I was...erm...but if I had...which I didn't...I wouldn't be allowed...I mean...it's a sin!"

"Well, the way I've ssssen you look at profiterolesssss issss very sssinful."

"Crowley..."

"And oysterssss...and sssstrawberry cheessssecake...and the firssst time you ssssaw the library at Alexandria," Crowley whispered.

"That wasn't...just...stop trying to tempt me, you old serpent!" Aziraphale leapt to his feet, pushing Crowley off his shoulders and he landed on the sofa. It seemed that the angel only noticed now that his wings were manifested and he blinked at the feathers before he made them vanish.

"I didn't do anything," Crowley replied, "You were the one thinking about..."

"We agreed that we'd never invade each other's...feelings!"

"I wassssn't, I ssswear!" the snake insisted, "I wassss assssleep. But you were sssscreaming what you were feeling with the world'ssss biggest megaphone on full blasssst!"

"What's a..."

"Urgh, ssssometimesss, angel, I wonder how you ssssurvive being 200 yearssss behind everyone elssssse," Crowley lamented. "The point isssss, you can't blame me for thisssss. I've stayed away from your fuzzy thoughts and...urgh...warm feelings like we agreed but if you keep shouting them like that, then there'ssss not much I can do about it."

Aziraphale turned away and hid his flushed face from Crowley, crossing his arms. "I didn't realise I was..." the angel murmured, "Just how much did you...did you sense...everything?"

Taking pity on the highly embarrassed angel and filing away the knowledge for when the binding spell wore off, Crowley did what demons did best and lied. Aziraphale never did well with facing things as they came, he preferred to wait and think, sometimes he could stop and think for centuries. After all, they'd known each other for almost 6,000 years when Aziraphale had told him, 'you go too fast for me,' and that was only 40 odd years ago. But Crowley let him, despite his inner demon disagreeing with his decision.

"I ssssensed some damn sssstrong desssire. If it'd have come from a human, it'd be easy pickingsssss. Whoever was in that book must've been doing sssssomething really interesting. Were they having sssex on a pile of booksss?" he asked, "Or in a library after hourssss?"

Aziraphale shuddered and Crowley sensed the angel reign in his control and within seconds, all he could sense was the usual quiet serenity of an angel as well as a lot of confusion and conflict. "Look, you really don't need to be ssssso embarrassed, angel," Crowley said, "We've known each other for too long..."

"I'm an angel, Crowley. I'm not allowed..."

"'Zira, I've seen you lust after things before and Heaven hasn't used it as an excuse to Fell you yet."

"...It's...not...a thing," Aziraphale admitted, "And I'm not used to...I mean...I'm meant to feel love, I'm used to that...but not...I'm not supposed to..."

"What? Be horny" Crowley smirked before he could stop himself.

"Crowley!"

"Ssssorry, sssory...ok, look at it this way then. We're not human but our bodiesss are meant to at lessast look it, right? And we've been here sssince the beginning. We got usssed to breathing and eating and drinking, and...well, those other feelings are normal for humansss, ssso why wouldn't we feel thossse too?"

"I...suppose..."

"I heard sssome berk sssay love and lussst aren't that different. Dunno if that'sss true, but if it is, then you're not really in trouble right, y'know, sssince you're 'a being of love' and all that?"

"It wasn't me I was worried for," Aziraphale remarked.

"And what d'you mean..."

"I think you had the right idea with an afternoon nap," Aziraphale spoke over him, trudging his way up to his bedroom without another word.

Crowley stared after him and wondered just what, if anything he should do. Demons were selfish creatures after all, but did Aziraphale have a point? Would something happen if he were to 'tempt' an angel? To him or to Aziraphale?


	19. Aziraphale's Mind

Crowley blamed the cocoa. If Aziraphale hadn't tempted him into finally trying his favourite beverage and if his hand hadn't ever so slightly brushed against the angels' as he was given his steaming mug of delicious smelling chocolate, then he wouldn't be lying in a tangled mess of unresponsive muscles and limp wings, unable to speak in anything more complicated than monosyllabic grunts.

He felt like his head had exploded with too much information, like a nuclear bomb had ripped him open from the inside and like his skin had been flayed off all in one go leaving nothing but raw muscle and nerves which scraped cruelly against the usually soft blankets and rugs with every weak twinge his body made.

He'd seen visions of planets and old forgotten libraries, of ancient civilisations as well as the most beautiful places on Earth and a lot of memories that he himself shared. All of the plays that he'd seen with Aziraphale, all of the times they'd had lunch together. The first time that he'd convinced the angel to go flying with him recently and the stars had shone brightly overhead, a little more brightly than they normally would have, in his opinion. In fact, Crowley had seen a lot of memories fly by and most of them had him in them each one accompanied by an inexplicable feeling of warmth.

"Crowley?" the angel said again, concern and guilt etched into his face. "Oh, please...I'm so, so, so sorry, I didn't mean...just...please say something!" he begged. His soft, manicured hands were fixed on either side of the demon's face, staring into the serpentine eyes, waiting tensely for any sign of coherency.

"...at...el...as...at..." Crowley mumbled. He meant to ask 'what the hell was that' but even to his own ears it didn't sound at all coherent.

"Oh, thank heavens," Aziraphale sighed, his right hand gently stroking the side of the demons' face.

"Uh?" Crowley blinked slowly.

"I was worried...I thought maybe...well, no matter, you're still here. You're safe. Who knows what could've happened," the angel said, "I really am...truly sorry. I never meant...it was just one second...I wasn't thinking, I..."

"...Fe..el...weird..." Crowley managed to say, his voice hoarse, his throat parched and he broke away coughing.

"I'm not surprised, dear," Aziraphale lamented and held a glass of water out for him. He gently lifted Crowley's head and held the glass up to his parched lips, letting him drink the cool water. "I'd heal you if I could but...well, technically, you're not hurt," he told his friend whilst stroking his red hair, soothingly. "I'm afraid I've...got rather a lot of explaining...and apologising to do," he added.

"...Wha..."

Crowley looked around, noticing that at some point he must've slipped from the sofa, onto the floor with his wings splayed out. Aziraphale was sitting beside him with his own glowing wings cocooning them both and Crowley's head was now propped on plush cushion. There were black and white feathers strewn all around them, books and papers had been scattered haphazardly and, for some reason, Crowley blinked to the realisation that he'd been sweating and the inside of his very tight jeans were uncomfortably sticky. "Err..." he muttered, looking down, "'at the fuck 'appened?" he grumbled.

"Pardon?" Aziraphale asked, following the demons gaze and promptly blushing. "Ah...yes...well...that is...oh dear, right," he stammered and miracled away the mess, all of them; including the feathers, the books and papers, and the uncomfortable human evidence left inside the demons' trousers.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale was now pointedly looking away from him and his hand had moved from the demons' hair so that he could wring both his hands against the other, frantically.

"'Zira?" Crowley tried again, coughing when he tried to raise his voice. Aziraphale flinched at the demons' pain, but he didn't look at him.

"I'm sorry!" Aziraphale exclaimed, still looking across the room at a nondescript stack of books, than at the demon. "It was an accident! I should've been more careful. I usually am. You could've ended up...I'm just...so very sorry," he said, curling in on himself and hugging his knees in despair.

"What happened?" Crowley asked.

"We were having cocoa," the angel said, biting his lip.

"Yeah...I r'member...then...nothin'..." Crowley said, scrubbing a hand through his hair, "It's all...blurry...fuzzy..."

"Do you...did you...see anything?" he asked, vaguely.

"Err...Saturn's rings...Earth from space...a really big library...bookshop m'be...an' bright light...really bright..."

"Did you...feel anything?"

"Like wha?"

"Anything...from me?"

"Dunno...it's all..messy," Crowley sighed. "Did I really come in my pants like a kid on his first date?" he asked and the angel blushed.

"Well..."

"Hasn't happened in a looong time," Crowley mumbled, trying to push himself up but failing and falling back down. "Urgh...wha' hit me?" he moaned.

"Just...relax," Aziraphale said, easing the demon back down on the pile of blankets and pillows. "You're safe. I promise it won't happen again," he added.

"Wha' won't?"

"I understand...if you never forgive me for this," the angel lamented.

"Don't even know wha'..."

"I...wasn't concentrating...I wasn't expecting...your hand, I just...I'm afraid you saw inside my head, dearest," the angel gave him a small, sardonic smile. "Or...rather my head pulled you in and didn't want to let you go," he said.

"Eh?"

The idea of an angelic Principality was for that being to not only carry out its heavenly orders and be a positive influence among humans, but also to be a storehouse of knowledge about earth and its inhabitants. Naturally no self respecting angel wanted to fill its divine head with such useless trivia which was one of the reasons why Aziraphale had been 'chosen' for the job. In his defence, when he chose to, he did have a very good memory, but no one else had wanted the job. And naturally, after 6,000 years and almost every book ever written, there was more than the odd random fact of useless trivia looked away inside Aziraphale's head. He liked to think of his mind as a bookshop, which literally lived inside a real bookshop. All the knowledge was there, but unless he went looking for it, it wouldn't bombard his subconsciousness and fry his brain. Like it had just fried Crowley's.

"A poor excuse for an angel I may be, but I'm still an angel. This...vessel...isn't what I am. I'm...made of...well...light. And my head is filled with 6,000 years worth of...knowledge about...well...anything and everything. I don't subconsciously try and remember it all the time, it's easier just to store it away, you see. But it's my job, as Principality, I mean. To serve heaven on Earth and learn about the humans. That's what you saw, dear, my head. A frightful mess, I'm sure. As for what you felt, well, I'm a being of love. I love all that knowledge and...other things."

"You're saying...me seeing inside **your** head...made **my** brain explode?" Crowley blinked up at him.

"I didn't mean that to be as...egotistical as it sounded," Aziraphale flushed.

"Your head...is a bookshop?"

"I suppose so."

"You've got Saturn's rings spinning around in there?" Crowley muttered, gesturing weakly to the angels head.

"Mmm hmmm," he mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers.

"And err...what's that got to do with me messing my pants, angel?"

"Must you be so crude?"

"Wha' else am I meant to say? You know how you get around the 'o' word. How many times did I even..."

"Three, I think," Aziraphale answered.

"Three," Crowley repeated.

"Mmm hmmm," the angel reiterated.

"From...Saturn's rings?"

"Erm...no...not exactly."

"Wha' then?"

"Erm...well...I'm a erm...as you know...a...a being of...erm...love and...you were in my head and you...might've felt...what I feel. For erm..." Aziraphale said, his voice getting ever more quiet as he went on. "Anyway...you felt my emotions. I suppose it all took you by surprise...all of it at once," he clarified.

"No kidding," Crowley mumbled. "S'you feel like tha' all the time?" he asked.

"A lot of time," he confessed.

"'Cos that felt like lust to me." Aziraphale coughed but said nothing so Crowley continued. "More than just making goo goo eyes after some new strawberry cheesecake," he said.

"I don't make...'goo goo' eyes," the angel grumbled, "How ridiculous."

"You've never seen what you look like when it's time for dessert."

Aziraphale scoffed at him in disbelief. What Crowley had felt was in fact, the angels' love for him specifically, but he found it impossible to say. 6,000 years of telling himself that they were on opposite sides, that even friendship would land them both in trouble was hard to overturn no matter what he felt. Maybe his eyes did express more than what his words could; eyes were after all the window to the soul and Aziraphale's 'soul' was a being made of light and love.

For a while now though, Crowley hadn't been an agent of Hell, Hell had effectively retired him but Aziraphale was still the Principality. Even if, in the safety of his bookshop, alone, even if Aziraphale did admit to himself that what he felt had gone beyond mere friendship several decades ago, surely it was safer for them both to keep that revelation locked away in his head.

"Saw some other stuff, too I think," Crowley remarked, finally able to push himself up to lean his back against the sofa.

"Oh?"

"The Ritz."

"I like the Ritz," Aziraphale defended.

"Our table," Crowley clarified.

"It's a nice...erm table. The best in fact," the angel shrugged.

"The old box at the theatre we always get."

"Again, it's a nice..."

"The ducks in the park...not really stuff that heaven'd wanna know about humanity, is it?"

"Erm..."

"Looked like I was in your head a lot..."

"It's never happened before! And I swear it won't happen again..."

"I meant, all the things we do together. Lunch. Theatre. Drinks. The park. This room."

"Oh...well...there has been a awful lot of it hasn't there, so I suppose..."

Crowley had always said that demons couldn't love. But being inside Aziraphale's head had shown him that angels could love, in fact they could love to the point of adoration. He'd felt Aziraphale's love for books and knowledge and food and wine, the warm tingling feeling and a bright smile that would always appear when Crowley gave him a present for no reason. If asked to describe love, Crowley wouldn't know what to say but from being inside the angels' head he knew that Aziraphale could recite great works in dozens of languages about the subject.

"Righ'," Crowley muttered, resting his head back and closing his eyes. "If we ever need money, you should go on one of those game shows you hate so much. Y'know, one where they wanna know daft things like...I dunno...who invented the U bend or something. You'd win," he remarked.

"Well...like I said...I drown it all out most of the time, otherwise I'd go quite mad."

"Think I heard some Enochian in there," Crowley said, "Think it's give me a headache."

"I really am sorry," Aziraphale replied, genuinely.

"Just sounded like...gobbledegook...kinda familiar gobbledegook...but I couldn't make sense of it. Like I know what it is but..." the demon said.

"I should be able to help with your headache at least," Aziraphale hesitantly raised his hand to Crowley's head but stopped before he could touch him. "If you'll let me, of course," he added.

"No more planets?" Crowley joked.

"None," Aziraphale agreed and the demon nodded. Angels were for far better at healing than demons were, for obvious reasons. Why would a demon want to heal after all? With a brief touch of his palm against Crowley's head, the demons headache faded away but his weariness remained. He was left with that same feeling of warmth that he'd felt inside Aziraphale's head though, he'd ever noticed it before.

Crowley had always respected the angel's fierce intelligence, but what he could never understand was the fact that Aziraphale never used his knowledge for his own gain. Well not really. He preferred to be the bumbling bookseller, which was indeed another facet of his fussy personality. The sheer volume of trivia inside the angel's head probably added to make his naturally fussy and anxious tendencies worse and maybe because or he did some remarkably silly things, like going to revolutionary France dressed as an aristocrat for crêpes. Maybe it was possible for his intelligence and all that knowledge to sometimes blot out the world around him. Crowley thought it was possible since there seemed to be so many useless facts floating around in the angel's head. Like, when wool was first woven into clothes, or when the colour purple was first used in synthetic dyes or why mould grows.

"Better?" the angel asked when he drew his hand away. Crowley nodded loosely and sighed. "Oh, good," Aziraphale said, relieved.

"All this for cocoa," Crowley mumbled.

"Oh, the cocoa, I forgot!" Aziraphale exclaimed, frantically looking around. He'd dropped both the mugs earlier; his white one with a wing for a handle and a black one with little devil horns on it. The cocoa had been spilt but he cleaned it up easily. "I'll have to make us some more," he lamented, setting the mugs upright on the floor.

"Later...maybe," Crowley said, his eyes still closed.

"Of course," the angel replied. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Tired."

"Then you should sleep," Aziraphale told him, "You're more than welcome to my bed."

When Crowley responded by raising an eyebrow at that, the angel flushed. "Oh dear, I...I only m...meant..." he began to stammer and the demon chuckled quietly.

"I've been in your head, angel," Crowley said, sluggishly.

"And I'm very sorry for..."

"Wasn't that bad," he noted, his speech faltering as his head began to drop onto his shoulder and he promptly fell asleep.


	20. Finally

A.N. I've never written anything like this before. Ever. It took forever to finish it. I think the fact that I did, probably says a lot about my deprived little mind. Enjoy.

Rated M for sexy fun times, sappiness and swearing.

* * *

If asked to describe what kissing felt like, Aziraphale would have resorted to reciting literature, dating through all of human history, describing the act which seemed to have humans so enthralled. He could say what it **looked** like, because he'd seen them do it so many times; ranging from a chaste peck on the cheek to far more intimate acts. At several points through history, greeting ones friends was associated with a kindly peck on the cheek so he at least knew what **that** felt like. But he had no idea what the more intimate kisses felt like.

Thousands of years ago in a country that no longer existed, a man called Kephi, an impressive scholar, had once very lightly brushed his lips against Aziraphale's and that had ended in disaster. (*1) The resulting shock had driven the unsuspecting human away and the angel had sworn to never let it happen again. There had been many times he'd been sorely tempted, particularly in the 18th and 19th centuries; he'd had a decided weakness for romantic poets. But he'd never actually given in.

The last things on his mind now were long dead poets and forgotten scholars, that was for sure.

* * *

The moment that Crowley had leaned in, almost but not quite touching, Aziraphale had felt his divine light itching at his skin, threatening to burst through his human (ish) body and blind the demon in its intensity, or worse, discorporate him. His heart was beating a cacophonous noise against his chest and he flushed against the dim light of the bookshop. He'd found himself unable to move, staring with darkened eyes between the demons' own glowing, yellow ones and his slightly parted lips.

"Tell me to go away and I will," Crowley remarked, his voice calm as he tried to get the tense angel to relax. "Anyway, we both know you're stronger than me. You already proved you can fry my brain without even trying to or you could burn me with Heavenly light..."

"...I...I don't want..." Aziraphale stammered, beginning to shiver.

"You don't want...what...this?"

"...I...d...don't..."

"Okay then," Crowley replied, unable to hide his disappointment and he drew back, running a hand through his hair.

Aziraphale made an embarrassing sound of protest and before he could even think about it, one of his hands had grabbed the front of Crowley's black shirt and held him there before he get any further away. The demon blinked at him in shock and Aziraphale blushed even more as he frantically released the demon's shirt from his hand.

"I mean...I don't want to hurt you," Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath and looking away. "I can feel it...my light could burn you," he said, shuddering and rubbing his upper arms, his skin feeling unusually tingly. "L...last time I...well, you know what happened," he muttered.

"I wasn't planning on running away, angel," Crowley said, remembering the story that Aziraphale had recounted to him.

"I don't mean that, I know you wouldn't, dear, I mean...have you any idea what could happen if you were exposed to the true light of an angel?!" Aziraphale asked, his voice frantic.

"I've seen some of your light show before and I haven't burst into flames. Maybe I've got used to it a bit."

"I don't think it works that way," Aziraphale smiled. "I didn't mean to imply that I was in any way opposed to the...erm..." he stammered.

"Kissing?" Crowley grinned smugly at him and he nodded. "Well, okay, look...I admit I had some trouble not going full on demon sometimes at the beginning but it just takes practice," he said.

"I..." Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

"I know you're not gonna thank me for saying this but I'm just gonna say it. You've been like this for ages, admit it, you're...well, you're horny, okay, I'm a demon, I can sense it so don't even try lying about it. You're not really the world's best liar anyway."

"T...that's hardly an...a...appropriate..."

"To Hell with 'appropriate', angel. You're gonna drive yourself nuts..."

"So...you were...just being kind..." Aziraphale hung his head and closed his eyes, "The Arrangement...lend a hand when needed...I see."

"Urgh, sometimes you can be so stupid," Crowley lamented, "You're the cleverest bloke...err...being...I've ever met but sometimes you just...This has **nothing** to do with our Arrangement. It's been kind of null and void for a while now anyway, right?"

"Well..."

"Not only are you gonna drive yourself crazy, you're gonna make me crazy too. I thought I was being pretty obvious about it. Any more obvious and I'd have needed a sixty foot high neon sign...with flashing lights," Crowley said, flopping dramatically off the sofa and onto the floor, lying sprawled out at the angel's feet. "Do I really need to spell it out for you?" he asked, "You're always saying you can sense...it...so what's the problem? Unless I'm not doing it right."

"What..."

"I brought you presents..."

"You've always given me presents, dear, they're always lovely," Aziraphale remarked.

"I practically live here...I moved a lot of my stuff here..."

"Yes, oh, incidentally, I tried using your television earlier and, well...I think something went wrong," the angel flushed.

"I basically redecorated your bedroom for Chr...for Satan...for someone's sake! I put tartan in it for you. Bloody tartan!"

"And very nice it is too," Aziraphale nodded.

"Even your stupid customers think we're...you're really not getting it, are you?" Crowley asked, scoffing incredulously.

"What, my dear?"

Crowley hissed in frustration and leapt up so that he was kneeling in front of Aziraphale who was still sitting on the sofa. "That I want to..." he growled and took the angels' hands in his own. "That I want **you**," he said, staring up at Aziraphale, "In a...more than friendly kind of way...have done for...a while."

"I...oh dear," the angel blushed.

"I've been in your head, angel, and I know damn well you want me too," Crowley said. It had been about a month since then and since then, the angel had been even more skittish then usual. Crowley had slept for an entire day after it had happened and Aziraphale hadn't left his side, neither had he stopped apologising for weeks. Naturally, the angel had withdrawn into himself out of guilt and embarrassment but Crowley had decided to throw caution to the wind.

In a gesture that surprised even himself, he landed gentle kisses on Aziraphale's hands; to the palms, the wrists, the surprisingly smooth skin on his knuckles. Each one seemed to make the angel shiver more than the last and his breathing hitched.

"I did...r...rather suspect," Aziraphale replied. "I'm not exactly very experienced in these matters...and I...I thought that it would be safer for...for you if we never...If Heaven ever found out...they'd destroy you. I couldn't...risk...You mean too much..."

"So we just...what...stay friends? For all eternity? You can be friends with someone you...lo...damn it. This," he said, tightening his grip on Aziraphale' hands, "Doesn't mean everything changes. We do everything else that stupid humans do when they're...We have lunch, we get drunk, we go for walks, we practically live together, we give each other nice things, we have movie night and argue about what to watch. But it's not enough anymore. I know you know it too. And I get it, it makes you nervous...but, you think I'm any better? I'm a demon, I'm not meant to want..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Aziraphale sighed, hearing the conflicting anguish in Crowley's voice as he trailed off. He prised one of his hands free of the demons grasp and placed it against Crowley's cheek. The demon leaned into it like a moth drawn to a flame. "You're right...it does make me...nervous. I'm afraid I've gotten used to the idea that I can't...that we're on opposite sides and that it's safer for you...for both of us...to keep it that way."

"To Hell with 'safer'," Crowley snapped.

"Eloquently put, dear," the angel gave him a small, embarrassed smile. "I've been horribly terse with you at times just lately, haven't I?" Aziraphale sighed a minute later.

"People get a bit snappy when they're sexually frustrated," Crowley shrugged, "Usually that's what makes tempting them so easy."

"That's no excuse. I'm not a 'person', I'm an angel. And I'm not...frustrated...I..."

"Come on, angel, I'm not an idiot. I've been around the block a few times, I know what that looks like. And anyway...been inside your head, remember." Crowley reiterated. "Took a couple of days to make sense of any of it though. You think too much. Gave me brain ache," he smiled.

"Another reason why we probably shouldn't..."

"D'you want to though?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale trailed the backs of his soft fingers down the right side of the demon's face. He hadn't noticed, but that hand was shaking ever so slightly and Crowley put his own hand over it to steady it. "Yes," the angel admitted, quietly, "More than anything."

Slowly, Crowley stood up and sat beside the angel back on the sofa, close enough that they were touching and he leaned closer again. He planted the lightest of kisses on Aziraphale's lips and then drew back, choosing not to comment on the whine that the angel made.

"There, see...you didn't explode in divine light," he remarked, "S' a good start, right?"

Aziraphale was sat unmoving, feeling his lips burning, his skin heating up with a blush and all he could hear was the heavy thudding of his own heartbeat which seemed to threaten both his sanity and his ear drums to the point of bursting them.

"Angel?" Crowley startled him.

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and stared at he demon with the same expression he'd had for centuries; almost every time through all of history when he'd seen Crowley, his face seemed to light up and his eyes shone. "C...can you...would you be so good as to...d...do that again...please?" he stammered.

Crowley's cooler hand snaked up to rest on the back of Aziraphale's warm, flushed neck and his fingers lightly played with the blonde curls sending a shudder of delight through the touch starved angel. As he shuddered, the demon gave him another feather light kiss, lingering a little longer than before, but still it was brief. It was still enough to draw out another quiet moan though.

"That okay?" he asked, still toying with the fine hairs at the nape of Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. "Again?" Crowley asked and again, the angel nodded.

Gently bringing Aziraphale closer to him, he kissed the angel for the third time, with one hand still at the nape of his neck and the other now resting on his back. This kiss was far less chaste than the others and it took Aziraphale completely off guard. He could taste the sweet flavour of the wine they'd been sipping earlier and he jumped in shock when he first felt Crowley's tongue against his lips, then it swirled around his own and mapped out the confines of his mouth. Having no idea what to do, he tried his best to simply mirror what Crowley was doing but he found that he couldn't keep up.

The hand against his back, though gentle, touched his shoulder blades in the exact place where his wings were joined and without realising it, the two snowy, feathered appendages ruffled into being. The hand at his hair was raking blissful little touches over his scalp and it was altogether amounting to sensory overload.

Aziraphale moaned, the sound muffled by the warm mouth still moving against his own and, nervously, he brought up one shaky hand to rest on Crowley's back, copying what the demons' was doing.

As he'd always said, Aziraphale could sense love. It was a fairly recent admission to himself that he loved Crowley, it had been there for a long time, but he'd never allowed himself to admit it, that would've been dangerous. But things had changed since the failed Apocalypse. He hadn't known what to do about it all and then Crowley had been turned into a snake and the whole thing had taken second place to his worry and his concern. Now apparently, Crowley had gotten impatient and no longer feared the possibility of Heaven's wrath. So, not only was his head swimming with his own emotions, he could feel Crowley's too which the demon seemed to be pouring into his kiss and his every touch. It was suffocating, like he was drowning in it but despite that, it didn't feel at all unpleasant. It meant that Aziraphale's world had narrowed to the small space on the sofa that they occupied and the rest of creation was suddenly non existent.

Aziraphale felt like he couldn't get close enough to Crowley, no matter how much he clumsily shuffled, it just wasn't enough. His knees were touching Crowley's, their lips were locked, one of his arms was hooked around the demons' back and the other he brought up to rake through the messily styled, red hair but it still wasn't enough. Aziraphale moaned and couldn't understand why it wasn't enough. They'd never been as physically close as they were at that moment but why did he still ache for more? In an effort to placate the voice in his head that was screaming for more, Aziraphale pressed his body closer to Crowley's but found that he could literally get no further as he was having to half turn his body on the sofa since they were sitting side by side.

"Y'okay?" Crowley asked, pulling back a little when the angel whined again and he soothingly ran his hand down through Aziraphale's hair and over his wings.

"Hmmm," the angel hummed, opening his eyes. He didn't even remember closing them. He doubted he could form a coherent sentence even if he wanted to so instead, he kissed the demon back, initiating their fourth kiss in an act of boldness that he'd probably be embarrassed by later. Again, he tried to get as close to Crowley as possible but it still felt like his human shell just wasn't able to do it. He hadn't felt like there was such a disconnect with his body and his ethereal self since the Beginning.

He was jostled out of this internal dilemma when Crowley began to carefully press a hand against his chest and push him to lie back down on the sofa. His eyes darted frantically from the hand on his chest to Crowley's face, wordlessly wondering what he was doing.

"Jusssssst lie back, angel," the demon muttered against his lips, only barely breaking their kiss.

He let Crowley guide him into lying down and the demons' other hand was still cradling his head, using it to lay Aziraphale's head down on a cushion as though he were made of glass and might shatter easily. The fact that his wings were protruding from his back made it difficult though and he winced, pulling away from their kiss when one of the wings got caught at an uncomfortable angle between his body and the sofa.

"Shit," Crowley grumbled. He was propping himself up over Aziraphale and he looked down at the angel, his yellow eyes darting over the slightly pained expression on his face. "What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"N...nothing, just...m...my wing, it's..." Aziraphale said, fumbling with said appendage and with Crowley's help, they managed to drape one wing over the back of the sofa and the other was lying limp against the floor. "Sorry," he muttered, sheepishly, "I erm...didn't realise I'd...that they were..."

The angel was only now noticing that along with his wings appearing without him noticing and that Crowley was effectively straddling him, one leg by the back of the sofa and the other had nestled between Aziraphale's own legs at some point. The demon buried both his hands in the soft feathers and Aziraphale moaned before he had the chance to be embarrassed, his eyes flickering shut again. "Oh...that feels...heavenly," he whispered, lying back.

While he was otherwise distracted, Crowley moved one hand to deftly remove the tartan bow tie and unfasten a few of the top buttons of Aziraphale's white shirt so that he had access to the angel's neck. He then proceeded to kiss the soft skin he found there, eliciting wanton moans of approval as he alternated between kissing and sucking and licking every inch of Aziraphale's neck and jaw. Then, methodically, he moved to the angel's ear and lightly bit the delicate ear lobe. At that, Aziraphale's arms wound around his back tightly, one linked underneath Crowley's right arm and the other tossed around his neck, his moan now louder than the last.

"Y'like that, huh?" Crowley grinned.

"Hmmm," Aziraphale let out a heady moan and he shuddered, his eyes glassy.

"Ssssssensitive, aren't you, angel?" the demon chucked as he continued, trailing his lips down Aziraphale's neck again. He savoured each and every sigh and moan and whine that came from the angel's lips.

Despite the fact that he liked to think he had developed an iron willpower over the centuries, at the sound of each one, Crowley's blood rushed south and he bit his lip in a bid to ignore it. He reached one hand down to Aziraphale's left knee and gently hitched it up to rest against his side, pressing his body sensually against the angels'. Crowley had long since discovered the joys of human sexuality and he'd taken his time exploring each and every inventive way of manipulating their fragile bodies. He'd reported it as a great success to his superiors, telling them that they barely had to lift a finger and the humans would be begging for mercy. Some had approved and some hadn't. Some had even tried it for themselves.

Ethereal and occult beings were created fully formed and genderless. They technically had no need for reproductive organs or desires, but at times when living on Earth throughout history it was perhaps arguable that to blend in, they were sometimes necessary; public bathing had been popular for some time and it would be rather difficult not to draw attention to yourself if you didn't have the proper equipment so to speak. So they had the ability to create them, they could create practically anything they wanted and as Crowley pressed his body down over Aziraphale's it was clear that the angel had never bothered to do that while he himself had.

"Oh," the angel breathed shakily, when their bodies were flush against the other.

Having read practically every book in existence and from observing Adam and Eve in the Beginning (really he hadn't meant to look, but they'd just been lying there right in the open, completely unashamed) Aziraphale wasn't ignorant of what happened to human bodies when aroused, but knowledge didn't equal experience and he was certainly surprised when the hard, insistent evidence of Crowley's own arousal was pressing down against his thigh. It added another facet to the sensual onslaught he was faced with and while part of his brain was worriedly telling him that this was too much, too fast, another louder part was saying the exact opposite, that it wasn't nearly enough.

Without realising it, Aziraphale had rolled his hips ever so slightly against the demon's in an attempt to recreate that first jolt of friction he'd felt just a few seconds ago. He wasn't disappointed and he breathed out a deep, shaky sigh. When Crowley felt him move, he grinned and rolled his hips against Aziraphale in a slow, repetitive motion but it made the angel writhe beneath him with every move.

Demons were selfish creatures, Crowley was a demon and therefore by extension, he too was selfish. Demons weren't meant to care about others. They only cared about getting what they wanted. Crowley had an angel who was clearly willing and receptive to his attentions like so many of the humans he'd tempted before but in every other sexual encounter, he'd put his own gratification first. He'd never taken the time to do what he was doing now. Why bother? But this was different; this was Aziraphale. His best friend, a fussy bookworm who could also, if he'd chose to, easily discorporate him. A virgin angel who'd willingly admitted that he'd barely ever had one kiss throughout all of human history was actively trying to bring their bodies even closer together than they already were and was moaning when they touched.

He, one of the Fallen, was making an angel moan in bliss. It was an astonishing display of trust from Aziraphale who had only ever displayed the utmost embarrassment when faced with physical affection. But it had to be said that the sight of an angel, tossing his head back in the throws of pleasure was a glorious sight. Crowley was committing the sight to memory as he leaned over the angel, telling himself that it was done out of pride, not sentimentality, but really who was he kidding? For years he'd hated the fact that he'd developed an almost co-dependency on Aziraphale but he could never bring himself to hate the angel himself. Now that was all ancient history. Literally. He still couldn't bring himself to say the word 'love', perhaps one day, but he **could** admit that everything else in the entirety of creation was meaningless compared to Aziraphale. Surely that admission was worth more than one paltry, four letter word.

Aziraphale was breathing heavily, all conscious thoughts obliterated and he began to emit a pale, divine glow. Naturally, he himself didn't notice it but Crowley did. Unlike other demons, Crowley could tolerate exposure to more divine light than was really healthy. He didn't know why, maybe he'd been around Aziraphale for so long that he'd acclimatised to it, just a little. Or maybe it was because it was Aziraphale's light specifically and it genuinely didn't want to hurt him. Regardless, enough of it would kill him just as it would any other demon. But this light that Aziraphale was emitting felt more of a comfort than a threat. It was warm and soothing, not harmful at all.

After a moment, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley had stopped his exquisite assault on his neck and that he'd stopped moving his hips in that tortuous rolling motion that had set him writhing. When he forced his eyes open, Aziraphale found an unconcealed expression of adoration etched onto the demons' angular face. It was stunning in its intensity and the warm tendrils of love that Aziraphale could feel from it were enough to make him shudder again right from the tips of his wings to his toes.

"C...Crowley?" he panted, his thoughts still scattered and sluggish.

Usually Aziraphale thought of several things all time no matter what he was doing; his latest translation project, where he'd next like to go for lunch, the next book he'd like to hunt down for his collection. Things like that. Things that usually were very important to him, but now the only thing on his mind was Crowley; his hands, his fingers, his lips and the undeniable, denim clad erection that had been pressing against his own thigh.

"Mmmm?" the demon muttered, tilting his head a little.

"...Please..."

"Please what, angel?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow smugly.

"Please," Aziraphale begged, hazily, "P...please don't stop."

His pride appeased again, Crowley lowered himself back over the angel and kissed him possessively, he felt Aziraphale's arms tighten around him with strength enough to severely bruise a human, but fortunately he wasn't human. Crowley left a trail of hard nips and kisses down Aziraphale's jaw and neck and he deftly worked to pop a few more buttons on the angel's white shirt, then proceeded to suck at his collar bones and trail his fingers over every inch of newly exposed, smooth skin. To Crowley it felt like touching the finest silk.

Tentatively, Crowley could feel one of Aziraphale's hands sliding its way under the hem of his black shirt to very slowly touch the much cooler skin on his lower back. After a moment, he splayed his whole hand over Crowley's back, then it moved higher and five manicured nails burrowed into his skin when the demon licked at Aziraphale's ear lobe. He'd used his snake tongue for that and it flicked devilishly, earning him a surprised yelp which trailed off as a moan when that tongue began to map its way around the delicate cartilage of the ear itself.

Aziraphale's other arm was around Crowley's neck and his hand, like the other, was shakily finding its way under the demon's shirt to better grasp at his neck. Crowley couldn't help but shudder happily at the angel's touch and he buried his face in Aziraphale's shoulder for a moment as he exhaled.

"Shit," Crowley mumbled. He was supposed to be the one in charge, not an inexperienced angel, but Aziraphale's tentative touches were making his blood boil in a way that no other of his lovers had ever done. Maybe it was emphasised by the fact that he'd wanted to touch the angel for so long, and be touched in return, so now that it was happening, everything felt like it was being enhanced a hundredfold.

Aziraphale caressed the back of his neck, soothingly while the hand beneath his shirt continued to map out the skin on his back with increasing confidence as though he knew the effect it was having. The bastard. Crowley raised his head from Aziraphale's shoulder and kissed him with renewed vigour, hard enough to bruise and long enough to leave them both gasping for air even though they didn't need to breathe.

Quietly cursing the angel's propensity to wear layers, Crowley didn't even bother with the row of fiddly buttons of Aziraphale's waistcoat and used a handy demonic miracle instead to undo them in the blink of an eye. He then did the same with the remaining buttons on the white shirt and then he splayed both his palms on the angel's exposed chest and felt Aziraphale flinch at the unexpected touch.

"Ohhhh..." Aziraphale exhaled, shakily and opened his eyes to see that his clothes had been unfastened.

"Feelsss good?" Crowley questioned, smirking. At any moment he half expected the angel to demand that they stop out of embarrassment and then precede to ignore him for a century, two centuries or more if he was particularly unlucky, leaving him with just a tantalising taste of what he could've had. After all, he was a demon to be forever denied even the slightest touch of Heaven again, and this **was** Heaven.

"...Oh..." Aziraphale sighed, again.

"That mean 'yes'?" Crowley asked him and the angel nodded.

While Aziraphale described himself as 'soft', it wasn't necessarily a bad thing; that was how he'd been designed after all. He looked like the angels found in a Renaissance painting with elegant curves and graceful limbs. That's to say, in appearance, he was Crowley's opposite. Despite that, the angel **had** been created as a soldier of heaven. There was undeniable muscle beneath skin that was decidedly very smooth, very soft and very much hairless.

Crowley took his time, passing his tongue over the gloriously smooth skin, starting at Aziraphale's belly button and moving his way up to then pay extra attention to the rosy pink nipples, making the angel jolt in shock.

"Ssssso sssmooth," Crowley murmured, nuzzling his face against the angel's chest. "S'like silk," he noted, "Better than ssssilk."

"T...that'll be the...the...lavender and the...the...erm...oh, good lord," Aziraphale trailed off when Crowley's teeth passed over one of his nipples and his hand pinched the other. "Nmmmmm...I know I'm...Gab...Gabriel said I've gotten too...mmmm...soft...eaten too many...ohhh..." he murmured, trying to cover himself up but Crowley stopped him.

"He's an idiot," Crowley told him, gently running his hands over Aziraphale's chest again and kissing the angel, leaving him breathless.

"B...but..." Aziraphale stammered, pulling back.

"Y'sssshouldn't be thinking about _him_ at all...ever," Crowley reiterated, "Esssssspecially not now."

"I'm...I'm not...only..."

"Ssssssshhhhhh," the demon hissed into his ear and lightly bit it again. "Whatever the bastard said, he's a fucking idiot. Right?" he said, biting Aziraphale's ear a little more forcefully.

"...Nmmm..."

"Right?" Crowley repeated, leaning up and using one hand to forcefully raise the angel's head up so that their noses were touching.

"...R...right..." Aziraphale stammered, moaning when Crowley kissed him again.

"Damn...fucking...bastard..." the demon muttered through the kiss.

"P...please d...don't...c...curse...dearest," Aziraphale muttered back, clawing at Crowley's hair and his back.

"Bastard deserves it," he said and he felt Aziraphale smile against his own lips.

"...V...very kind of you...I'm...I'm sure..."

"I'm not kind!" Crowley hissed, pulling away and forcefully pushing the angel back down. "I'm a demon!" he exclaimed.

Aziraphale stared up at him, shocked for a moment at the demon's abrupt mood change, but he could see the confusion and doubt in Crowley's eyes, so he smiled, gently. Crowley always hated being called 'kind' or 'nice' or any positive kind of adjective. So, setting his own embarrassment aside, Aziraphale put his hand against Crowley's right cheek.

"Of course not, my dear, you're pure evil, you're a wicked, wicked tempter," he said, indulgent and watched Crowley's shudder.

"Damn right I am," the demon said.

"Forgive me?"

"Demons aren't really very forgiving," Crowley whispered.

"Then how shall I make amends?" Aziraphale asked.

"You're clever...you'll think of something," the demon replied. He took the opportunity to start removing Aziraphale's waistcoat and shirt and the angel weakly protested out of resurfacing embarrassment.

"T...those are antiques..." he stammered.

"If you don't want me to..."

"It...it's not that," Aziraphale replied, "I just..."

"I want to touch you, angel," Crowley said, sitting up, easing his weight off the angel. "And I want you to touch me, but if you don't want this, then I'll stop. I'm not that **kind** of demon. I've waited a long time for this but..."

"I know...you've been very patient with me," Aziraphale said, sighing. "You **are** good to me...no, don't say it. You are," he said, swallowing nervously as he took in the sight of Crowley's mussed hair, bright eyes and slightly askew shirt. He reached out and ran his hand from Crowley's hip and up his chest. "I want to...I just don't know...how to," he admitted.

"'Zira," Crowley said, gathering Aziraphale's hand in his own and holding it. "It's not like there's a right or wrong way to do any of this, it's just...do what feels good," he shrugged. "Besides...you're a fast learner...when you wanna be, and you're smart, you'll pick it up," he said.

"You think I'm intelligent?"

"No, I **know** you are."

"Oh...thank you," the angel beamed happily at him.

"Remember that debate back in Greece with all those stuffy philosophers? Socrates and whoever else was there...you talked circles round them...they were so embarrassed."

"Yes, that was rather fun, but I only did it because they'd been quite cruel to you," Aziraphale pouted.

"I **did** tip rotten food over them the day before," the demon grinned. He'd only done that the cheer the angel up and it had worked too.

"I know...it was funny," the angel laughed.

"You're such a bastard," Crowley shook his head and gently kissed Aziraphale on the lips again. "You looked good in that chiton though," he murmured. (*2)

"I erm...I believe I still have it," Aziraphale said, "I keep all my clothing."

"Shit...you still...have that?" the demon buried his nose into his neck and shuddered again.

"S...somewhere...yes..."

"What about those silk stockings you had in the 1700's?" (*3)

"They were dreadfully expensive, of course I kept them," Aziraphale answered. "I think that was my absolute favourite century for clothes," he mused. His wardrobe had long since been expanded by a small divine miracle and it spanned all of human history, it was one of his most prized collections. All of them had been bought and paid for since because usually he liked to spend time with his tailors appreciating their craft. He could never be rid of such great works of art.

"Course it was," Crowley chuckled, "So many frills...all that...lace."

"And what exactly is wrong with frills and lace?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nothin', angel," the demon replied, smiling and kissing Aziraphale's neck. "You looked good in 'em, 'specially the stockings," he said.

"Really, my dear," the angel blushed.

"What? You've got nice legs, y'shouldn't be shy about it," Crowley said, ghosting a hand over Aziraphale's calf and knee.

"I...erm..." the angel blinked at that statement.

Crowley solved Aziraphale's speechlessness by kissing him and then drawing back. Now not even his hands were touching the angel. "If you want me to touch you, tell me," he murmured.

"I..."

"Yeah?"

"P...please."

"You sure?"

Aziraphale nodded frantically, "Please, love, please touch me," he said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at the new term of endearment but decided not to mention it yet. He leaned in and ran his hands up Aziraphale's sides, pushing back his clothes but not removing them. The angel surprised him by doing that himself with a minor miracle; his shirt and waistcoat vanished and reappeared neatly folded on a chair across from them with his golden pocket watch on top of them.

"Oh, fuck," the demon muttered, nuzzling the side of his face against Aziraphale's chest.

The angel was already reaching out his hands to push up Crowley's black shirt as far as he could and clearly delighting as each inch of skin was revealed. Crowley took the hint and threw off his shirt the human way, tossing it to the floor and moaning in unison with Aziraphale when he leaned back down, their bare skin meeting.

Aziraphale gently examined patches of black, serpentine scales that were dotted around seemingly at random on Crowley's chest. "Urgh," the demon exhaled.

"T...that doesn't hurt, does it?" Aziraphale asked.

"Feelssss good," he admitted, rutting his hips against the angel before he could stop himself. Tenderness and gentle touches weren't usually what took place when Crowley had done this before and it was taking him by surprise just how easy he found it to be so gentle when it was Aziraphale on the receiving end.

"S...so does that," the angel hummed. "It's erm...not really very...angelic I suppose but...oh, good lord..." he threw back his head when Crowley sucked at his chest again.

"Not angelic?" Crowley scoffed, mockingly. "Didn't you say earlier this all feels 'heavenly'?" he asked, rocking against the angel, eagerly, each movement becoming increasingly urgent.

"Ohhh...it...it does..."

Crowley pulled up Aziraphale's leg again, moving it as close as possible and pressing himself down, leaving the angel with no question that he was very, very aroused, as though he needed reminding. The demon then started massaging the angel's feathers, brushing his fingers against the most sensitive joints and kissing him deeply, not coming up for air for several minutes.

"Sssstill heavenly enough for you?" Crowley asked, but Aziraphale seemed beyond words at that point. He dragged the demon back to kiss him again and his moans growing louder, the divine glow on his skin seeping through again and his arms were tight around Crowley's back and his neck.

The light was warm and it make Crowley's skin feel like he was curled up under the sun. He and no idea how much time passed or even if he'd stopped time. All that mattered was the expression on Aziraphale's face which was putting the famous 'Ecstasy of Saint Teressa' to shame. He'd actually been the one to encourage Bernini, or Berny, as he'd called him, to make the sculpture so expressive and he was proud of it, until now.

He reached his hands as far as he could to get at the particularly sensitive wing joints on Aziraphale's back and his reward was a stammered string of words in Enochian and a moan so wanton that it set his blood aflame. Aziraphale's wings ruffled beneath him and Crowley rested his mouth next to the angel's ear.

"Nearly there, angel," he whispered, soothingly. "I've got you. Let go, 'Zira. Trust me," he said and that seemed to be enough to push Aziraphale over the precipice, moaning, writhing and literally glowing as Crowley held him close, waiting until he stilled.

At one point, only for the briefest of seconds, the light actually did feel like it was burning him, but it stopped soon enough and he managed to close his eyes so that he didnt end up being blinded. The angel was breathing heavily, sweating and shaking and Crowley manoeuvred on the sofa, making it slightly larger with a demonic miracle, so that he was reclining comfortably with his head against the arm rest, cushioned by pillows. Aziraphale was curled up mostly on top of him with one wing resting limply over them both and the other splayed out over the back of the sofa. Crowley was stroking his hand through Aziraphale's hair as he continued to shudder and after a while, the angel took a deep calming breath.

"Y'okay?" Crowley asked him.

Aziraphale tightened his arm over Crowley and nodded, nuzzling his face against the demon's bare chest. "Mmmm," he hummed, happily.

At the back of his mind, no matter how many times Aziraphale claimed that he wouldn't Fall, Crowley had been worried that Heaven wouldn't quite agree with the angel's assessment. But he needn't have worried, clearly. Aziraphale was, if possible, more angelic than ever. He was extremely relieved; Aziraphale didn't deserve to Fall. As far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale was more angelic than all the other angel's put together even if he was 'just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.' His wings seemed even more brilliantly white with hints of gold, the ethereal glow on his skin had only just faded and the general aura of serenity and grace was so strong, Crowley thought that the whole neighbourhood would be able to feel it. If so, there'd be a lot more happy couples and probably no crime in a five mile radius at all that night; everyone would be too busy feeling all warm and fuzzy.

He didn't suppose that demons were meant to like 'cuddling' and he'd never bothered to stay with someone afterwards, but Crowley couldn't make himself leave. He'd never felt so trusted and lying there holding a half naked angel felt more like Heaven than he could ever remember the real thing being. If it had been like this, then he definitely never would have left.

"That was wonderful. I've never felt so...loved," Aziraphale said, sheepishly. He craned his neck to look up at Crowley, looking ridiculously angelic as he did.

"I'm...I'm a demon, I can't..." Crowley replied, the old protest coming to mind automatically.

"I felt it," the angel stopped him.

"No, that's my hard on," the demon retorted quickly, completely unapologetic.

"I didn't mean...that," Aziraphale blushed. "I meant, I felt...what you feel...for me. It was beautiful. I know you hate that word...you hate all four letter words, I know, but that one in particular. Just know that...that I love you," he said.

"You're an angel...you 'love' everything'," was all Crowley managed to say after a moment.

"Not like this," Aziraphale replied, tenderly kissing Crowley's chest. "I've never loved anything or anyone like this except for you," he said. He was blushing, still clearly a little embarrassed, but Aziraphale was a being of love, admitting it aloud was simply natural for him now that he'd acknowledged it to himself. "_Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love_," he recited, flawlessly.

"...Hamlet," Crowley breathed.

"Yes."

"I...err...never got why you like that one in the first place. You cry every time."

"And you always cheer me up afterwards," the angel replied. "_In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you_."

"...Austen?" the demon mused.

"_You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought_," Aziraphale said.

"How can you make something so sappy sound so...not."

"Arthur Conan Doyle was not 'sappy', dearest," the angel scolded him, smiling. "I can keep going, if you like," he offered. "_You and I, it's as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught_," he said.

"Who's that?"

"Boris Pasternak."

"I like that...it's ironic."

"In an odd sort of way, I suppose so. It feels as though you were made for me, and I, you. What an odd stroke of luck that we found each other, don't you think?"

"Unless it's another of Her grand bloody plans."

"If it is...I confess, I can't find it in me to object," the angel smiled. "_I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all_," he quoted.

"Please tell me that's you and not some writer..."

"Both I suppose. I didn't write it, but it doesn't make it any less true."

"Hmmm."

_"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depths and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and idea grace," _Aziraphale said, kissing a trail up from Crowley's chest to his mouth.

The demon pulled Aziraphale to lie over him completely and they were cocooned by the soft feathers of the angel's wings. "That one's overused, angel," Crowley murmured through their kiss as Aziraphale clumsily, but eagerly, settled himself over Crowley, straddling him.

"But I like it," the angel whined. Crowley chuckled, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. So close that the still present erection he'd mentioned so casually earlier, was pressing up against the angel again.

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed. "Erm...is that...isn't it meant to...from what I understand...shouldn't it have...erm...gone..." he stammered.

"Would've, if I'd come, yeah," Crowley replied.

"But...but you didn't..."

"No," the demon said, stroking one of Aziraphale's wings. "I was try'na make **you** feel good."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale beamed.

"Doesn't feel like you bother with anything down there, so if it's not your thing, I can just, y'know, miracle it away. It's the humans who think genitals are the most important thing ever, not us. I'm just so used to it now."

"Well...I never really...saw much of a need for..." the angel said, suddenly embarrassed again. "But...well...it hardly seems fair that I...that you...did something so nice for me and neglected yourself," he said.

"You don't have to..."

"I want to," Aziraphale told him, quickly. "But...you may need to...show me...how to," he admitted. He sat up and tentatively eyed the bulge in Crowley's jeans with wide eyes. Pursing his lip, he started to pull down the zip and his hand brushed against Crowley's sensitive and neglected erection.

"Oh, shit," the demon moaned, tossing his head back. "'Nmmm...'Zira...you really d...don't need to...oh, fuck..." he trailed off when Aziraphale's hand touched him again. This time, much more deliberately after he'd undone the zip and gently put his hand against the black boxers underneath. "I...won't be in...a...any state t...to say anything if you keep that up," the demon scoffed.

"I...didn't...do much of anything," Aziraphale blinked.

"I know!" the demon lamented, sardonically. "Ssssshit, I never...loossssse it like thisssss," he groaned. "I'm...sssssssorry, I...mmmmmmm," he moaned again, unable to speak for a moment.

Intrigued and somewhat bemused by the effect that the slightest of touches was having on the demon, Aziraphale grinned. His embarrassment faded quickly, leaving a fierce determination behind and though he had no idea what he was doing, he continued. His touches were much less tentative now as he palmed the demon through his boxers, trying different movements and repeating whatever made the demon moan loudest.

After a minute, Aziraphale decided that Crowley's jeans were simply in the way, but they were so tight he worried that if he tried pulling them off he'd damage something.

"Crowley?" the angel said.

"Mmmmmm?"

"Can I take these off?" he asked, pulling at the denim.

"Oh God...I mean...Satan...oh, fuck, yes," the demon stammered.

Aziraphale miracle'd the jeans across the room, folded perfectly along with his own shirt and waistcoat, leaving Crowley in nothing more than his boxers. Unlike his own body, Crowley was not hairless, but it made no difference to Aziraphale.

"Ahhh...fuck...r...right there...angel..." Crowley moaned when he made another of his experimental movements. "Sssssshit...that'ssssss good," he hissed, clenching his eye shut tightly.

"These too?" Aziraphale asked, timidly using his other hand to tug at the black cotton boxers which had begun to feel wet against his hand.

Crowley nodded and with the aid of another divine miracle, the demon was naked and for a moment, the angel simply stared at him, noting the lithe muscles, pale skin and occasional scales and of course, the intimate part of his anatomy that he himself had never bothered with. It wasn't as though he'd never seen one before, some humans used to go around naked after all, but he doubted that human erections, or bodies even, had the occasional scales like Crowley did. There had definitely been times when Aziraphale had been almost tempted by humans, enough to realise that he had a preference certainly, but usually those feelings passed and be was left wonfering just why pople put so much importance on it all. Now he knew.

"A...angel..." Crowley panted, and Aziraphale's hand finally curled around him, making him sigh in relief. Soft, manicured fingers suddenly moved a little too forcefully and he yelped, making the angel flinch and release him.

"Sorry," Aziraphale exclaimed, quickly, "I'm sorry...I..."

"Sssssss fine," Crowley breathed. "Ssss jusssst sssensitive. Jusssst need to be a bit more...gentle," he said. He took the angel's hand and laid it back around him, moving the softer hand with his own, guiding it into a rhythmic motion of moving up and down and back again. "There...ssssssssee," he said, falling back limply against the sofa again.

Careful not to make the same mistake and hurt the demon, Aziraphale kept his touch gentle, his fingers easily slipping now over the base and rolling over the sensitive head to repeat the gesture.

"Angel..."

"Yes, love?"

"Fuck...kissss me..." Crowley murmured through his moans, "Pleassssse."

Aziraphale quickly lowered himself back over the writhing demon, not pausing in his movements as he joined his lips with Crowley's, smiling. "More..." Crowley muttered against him, urging Aziraphale's hand to move faster with his own. "Fassster," he begged.

Crowley's kiss was urgent, demanding and his hold on the angel was unyielding. He opened his eyes, looked up and saw not only the cherubic face of Aziraphale, but also a blanket of feathers which was an entirely new experience for him; he'd never been given a hand job under the beautiful wings of an angel before, but he supposed that there was a first time for everything even if you were 6,000 years old.

"Urgh," Crowley panted, his hips bucking up to meet Aziraphale's eager hand. "Shit," he mumbled, "'Zi...'Zira..."

"Shhhh," Aziraphale whispered to him. "Relax, love, I'm here," he said, soothingly.

"Y've...n...never c...called me...that...b...before...t...today..."

"I'll call you 'love' every day if you wish," the angel smiled, "Every day and every night for the rest of eternity."

"Mmmmm..."

"Should I recite something for you?" he asked, curiously.

"Urgh...n...no...jussssst...talk t...to me."

"Alright, love," Aziraphale replied, "About what?"

"T...tell me...t...tell me...you want this."

Aziraphale kissed him again, peppering Crowley's lips with light kisses as he spoke. "Oh, but I do," he said. "I want this. I want **you**, Crowley. I want to make you feel as wonderful as I did. Here, can you feel it?" he asked, spreading his wings over them and using his ethereal senses, he projected waves of the love that he felt, hoping that Crowley could sense even a fraction of it. "What you feel for me...see how happy you make me. See how my wings shine," he said.

"Ahhh...fuck," Crowley moaned, looking at the wings. "F...fuckin'...b...beautiful," he murmured at the sight of them stretched out to their considerable, full wingspan. He pulled Aziraphale down and held him tightly, burying his face in the angel's shoulder as he mentally exploded.

From practice, Crowley's wings didn't manifest themselves anymore when he orgasmed, it was just an inconvenience really when dealing with humans, but since he didn't have to worry about that here, he could feel them almost burst from his back. Almost but not quite, which was quite unusual, he'd admit. He murmured incoherently while Aziraphale soothed him with his gentle hand, unashamed as it was coated with warm, unfamiliar liquid, feeling the demon soften under his touch. Slowly, Crowley's hold on the angel loosened and he lay back limply on the sofa, panting.

Aziraphale cleaned the mess with a minuscule wave of his hand and then rested his head back on Crowley's shoulder again, curling in on the demon's side with a contented sigh. He lay there in silence, listening to the demon sigh and pant and slowly, his breathing settled.

"The Arrangement never quite covered any of this, did it," Aziraphale mused.

"Oh...fuck the Arrangement," Crowley breathed, hugging an arm around Aziraphale as the angel giggled.

"I erm...I assume that was...good...for you?"

"Y'mean it wasn't obvious?" he drawled, "Yes, angel, it was good. Damn good."

"Hmmm," Aziraphale nodded, relaxing against him, closing his eyes.

"Angel?"

"Mmmm?"

"Aren't they...err...your lot...gonna wonder what all those miracles were for?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale tensed suddenly.

"Oops," he muttered.

* * *

(*1) Ref to chapter 17

(*2) chiton - a kind of woolen tunic from Ancient Greece. I'm pretty sure there's a version for men and a different one for women.

(*3) In the 1700's, men and women wore stockings but womens' were hidden under their dresses. Stockings here doesnt mean modern tights, they were more like big socks, lol. Usually they were made of wool but I say Aziraphale had silk ones because it's more luxurious.


	21. Starstruck

Rated for sappiness and fluff. So much fluff.

* * *

After their 'getting together' as Aziraphale liked to refer to it, he and Crowley spent the better part of three months, mostly naked, in the angel's four poster bed with a sign on the front door of the bookshop that read; 'WE ARE CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE...APOLOGIES FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.' Crowley would have just written, 'BUGGER OFF HUMANS, I'M BUSY' but of course Aziraphale had to be polite, even on a door sign.

Feeling ridiculously sentimental one night, Crowley had miracled the ceiling above Aziraphale's bed (which was now easily his favourite place in the universe) to resemble the night's sky but it was enhanced in every way. Every star burned a little brighter, every galaxy swirled with colour and each nebula was glorious, Crowley knew that each one was accurate because he'd helped to make some of them.

"Is that one of yours, love?" the angel asked sleepily, pointing up at a particularly bright red nebula.

"Yeah," Crowley smiled, "First one I worked on."

"It's beautiful."

"Should'a seen what it was like when we were making it...s'like painting, I guess. They wanted to make it green. I changed it when they weren't looking," he snorted and Aziraphale shook his head, bemused. "Paperwork was all done by the time anyone noticed so no one could change it back again," the demon added.

"What about that one?" Aziraphale pointed to another.

"Nah, not mine. Can't remember who made that one but they must've been colourblind."

"It's not nearly as lovely as yours," Aziraphale remarked, nuzzling the side of his face against Crowley's bare chest.

"Kiss ass," the demon said, chuckling.

"I'm afraid I'm rather exhausted, dearest, but perhaps later," the angel replied, giggling.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I should hope so."

"You're such a hedonist," Crowley said fondly, kissing the messy crown of blonde curls atop the angel's head, lightly.

"I prefer the term 'sensualist'," Aziraphale replied, pedantically.

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes," he pouted and the demon smirked.

"Alright, alright, whatever you like, angel," he said. Crowley eventually gestured up to another nebula. It was composed entirely of shades of blue. "See that one," he said.

"Mmmm," the angel nodded, looking up.

"We used to call it the waterfall."

"Yes, it does rather look like one."

"How'd you say that in Enochian? I can't remember."

"Doesn't it hurt your head when I speak..."

"Just...please, angel," Crowley begged.

Aziraphale sighed and pushed himself up on his arms a little so that he was able to look the demon in the eyes. He whispered a word, it was melodic and beautiful, made of a language that only angels could speak. Crowley winced a little but he smiled happily. "Thanks," he said, genuinely, pulling the angel to rest back against his chest again.

"Please don't ask me to do that again, love, you know I don't ever want to see you hurt," Aziraphale grumbled.

"You call out in Enochian half the time when we're having sex," Crowley said, crudely.

"Making love," the angel corrected him, blushing, "And I'm truly sorry about that, I've really been concentrating on not doing it."

"Yeah, I know, you get this look. And when I know you're concentrating on something other than me, it just makes me want to drive you even more crazy."

"I know, you frustrating thing, you," Aziraphale gently poked a manicured finger against Crowley's torso.

"Y'know...no one really calls it 'making love', don't you?" the demon remarked after a moment.

"I can call it what I like when I'm the one doing...it," Aziraphale retorted, still flushed.

"Fair point, I guess."

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, staring up at the stars and it was at least twenty minutes before Aziraphale spoke.

"I've been wondering, love," the angel began, "Of course, you don't have to answer me if you don't want to...I..."

"What?" Crowley prompted him.

"I wasn't even...created...when the stars were made. How...I, really, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, I was simply surprised...just how..."

"How old am I, y'mean?" the demon inferred and felt Aziraphale nod against him.

"I'm sorry if I..."

"Guess I never really said anything about it, did I? Not like we have birthdays or anything."

"I'd always assumed we were, well, the same age. I don't recall ever meeting you Up there, but by the time I was created, it was rather crowded. I'd heard people say that it used to be a lot quieter, before my time of course."

"Yeah, it was. Quiet and boring," Crowley snorted. "S'why I used to like doing all...this..." he said, flicking an idle hand at the stars, "Nothing else to really do. Nothing else had been made then."

"I can't imagine it," Aziraphale said, sadly, "It must've been very lonely."

"I think...I was among the first," Crowley said, straining his memory. "I think" he repeated, "Well, one of the first that She kept, anyway."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"She used to errr...unmake...some of us if she didn't like 'em in the early days after She made them. Like a doodle that didn't work out and She just wanted to scribble it out. She can be a real bitch sometimes."

"Crowley!"

"Well, what's She gonna do? Damn me again?" Crowley snorted. "I remember...watching sometimes, when She made new angels," he said.

"Really?" Aziraphale exclaimed, awed.

"Yeah...well, like I said, nothing else to really do till they'd let me at the stars again," he shrugged.

"How wonderful that must've been."

"I erm...I was there, y'know," Crowley said, slowly. "When She...when you were...when She made you. I don't remember everything from before, but I remember my stars and I remember you."

"You were there when...oh, my dear," Aziraphale stared at him in wonder.

"She made a lot back then, I think She was bored really. They all turned out pretty much the same right from the off, all...carbon copies but with different faces."

"How many angels did you see..."

"Hundreds...lost count after a while," he shrugged, "It's...really weird...watching an angel being born, kinda makes you dizzy."

"I wish I'd seen it," Aziraphale lamented.

"Nah, you didn't miss much," Crowley assured him, rubbing a hand down the angel's upper arm. "Just imagine loads of pricks like Gabriel and Uriel all new and ready to smite and be holier than thou the second they're made," he said.

"I'd rather not...not when you put it like that."

"She used to tell them the same thing every time...'Your name is blah blah blah and you were made to serve Heaven.' Not really very inspiring words considering they're the first ones they hear and all that, but she told you something different," Crowley said.

"I always thought...She said that...what she said to me, to all of us...

"Nope," Crowley snorted. "It's like...She wasn't even trying half the time with the others and it shows, but She took her time making you," Crowley told him. "I know why you always say you're a 'being of love' and it's not just because you're an angel," he said. "It's because that's the first thing She said to you. She said; 'Your name is Aziraphale, it means beloved of the Almighty creator. You were made to love and to be loved'."

"Yes," the angel sighed, happily. "You really were there, weren't you?" he said, hugging Crowley close and kissing him passionately, draping himself over the demon. "Oh, I do love you, Crowley," he said, his eyes twinkling and his smile beaming when he pulled back from their kiss a little. "But why on earth didn't you ever say..."

"Dunno really. Never came up I guess," Crowley said and it sounded pathetic even to him. What he meant, and what Aziraphale understood, was that to even think about his life before his Fall was difficult and he definitely didn't like to discuss it, which was why the angel never asked. It was also why Aziraphale's had never asked him what his name was before the Fall, or even if he could remember it, and why he never would. He loved Crowley too much to hurt him.

"Well, thank you very much for telling me," Aziraphale said, planting soothing kisses to Crowley's cheeks and neck. "It's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard," he said, "Knowing that you were there right at my beginning. I only wish I could've been there for you at yours. You must have been so alone." Crowley said nothing to that and Aziraphale curled himself even closer as a means of comfort. "You're not alone now, love," the angel assured him, "You never will be."

"Yeah...I know," the demon mumbled back, once again, touched by how a being literally beloved by the Almighty could feel so much for him. "Thanks, angel," he said, genuinely. "I err...I kinda always thought that's why She never mentioned anything about the sword, really," he continued in a much light hearted tone, "I mean...a lot of angels would've been damned a hundred times over just for trying food let alone 'fraternising' with the likes of me or 'losing' a divine sword. It's 'cause She likes you. You're like...the favourite kid brother all the other brothers and sisters get jealous of," he snorted.

Aziraphale blushed bright red and stammered, "W...well, I...I...She...I mean, She likes...loves...everyone, I..."

"Not everyone got names that literally mean 'beloved of the Almighty'," Crowley retorted. "Some of 'em just got lumped with 'angel of the something choir' or 'one who was made by God', I mean, that's pretty lazy. No wonder they're tetchy."

"I do wish you wouldn't insult the Almighty so much, my dear," Aziraphale sighed, dramatically.

"Demon; it's in my job description," he shrugged again, nonchalantly.

"Tell me about that one," the angel said, not so subtly changing the subject as he pointed up at a particularly bright star, "The humans call it Polaris, I believe."

"Yeah...funny story really," Crowley said, almost wistfully and Aziraphale listened, enchanted.

* * *

A.N. I dunno if in the book, it says what Aziraphale's name actually means, if anything, it's been a while since I read it. But it's a fictional name anyway so I took some liberties.


	22. A New Experience

A.N. Rated M for more sexy times. Set directly after chapter 20.

* * *

When the angel fell asleep, Crowley miracled them both upstairs to Aziraphale's bedroom and lit a dozen or so candles and lamps that were scattered around the room, closing the thick curtains for when morning came.

When Crowley had redecorated the room, the first thing he'd done was replace the 'vintage' mattress with one made of a luxurious memory foam, saying that it was done out of concern for himself because he'd slept in the bed as a snake and claimed that it had hurt his back, if snakes had backs, well technically they had one very long back but that was beside the point. The angel had been adamant about keeping the antique bed frame though, stating that it originated from the Victorian Arts and Crafts movement and that he'd only bought it because it was so beautiful. So Crowley had compromised; new mattress, old bed.

Now, the demon was lying on his back under the covers, glad of the new mattress and Aziraphale was lying next to him, fast asleep. The angel's head was resting on Crowley's right shoulder with his arm on the demon's chest and his smooth palm splayed over cool skin. His trouser covered leg was hooked over one of Crowley's bare ones, as was one of his wings with the other one trailing down over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The wings ruffled a little every now and then and the pure white feathers made the most beautiful sounds as they swooshed against each other.

After a few hours, Aziraphale shifted a little, waking up slowly as he let out a contented sigh and Crowley put his hand atop the softer one that was resting on his chest, interlacing their fingers together and tightening his other arm around the angel's shoulders.

"Mornin', angel," Crowley murmured, "Well, it **will** be morning in...maybe half an hour. S'close enough."

"Hmm?" Aziraphale hummed, blinking his eyes open and then tilting his head up a little to look at the demon. "Crowley," the angel said, his smile radiating happiness.

"Expecting someone else?" Crowley asked, dryly. He'd never met another angel whose reaction on seeing a demon was to always smile so genuinely; unless it was from the joy of being able to smite them of course.

Aziraphale gave him a sardonic glare that held no malice whatsoever and then rested his head back on the demon's shoulder, sighing. "You've been asleep for about three hours," Crowley told him, trailing his fingers down Aziraphale's shoulder then his upper arm and then back up to his shoulder again.

"Hmmm," Aziraphale reiterated, shuddering a little at the featherlight touch.

"New record for you, isn't it, three whole hours?"

"Hmmm," the angel nodded.

"Y'gonna say something else or are you gonna keep doing your broken record impression?" Crowley snorted.

"What would you like me to say, love?" Aziraphale murmured.

"Wow, a whole sentence, well done, 'Zira."

"Hilarious, my dear," the angel rolled his eyes.

"Guess I wore you out so much you can't hardly think straight," he replied, smugly, "I'm good, I know."

"Hush," the angel scolded him, embarrassed. He lightly tapping his hand against Crowley's chest. "I didn't erm...before...I mean...I didn't...hurt you, did I? My light, I mean? I can't really...I did try and keep it controlled but..." Aziraphale asked.

"I don't feel like crème brûlée a la demon," Crowley mocked.

"I was being serious."

"I'm fine, relax," the demon assured him.

"Are you sure...because if I hurt you..."

"You didn't," Crowley reiterated.

"You really should have said something..." he pouted.

"Angel, you were mid orgasm when you started glowing like a lighthouse on steroids. I wasn't gonna ruin it for you," he said and Aziraphale blushed.

"Oh," the angel mumbled.

"But I'm fine, really."

"W...well as long as you're sure," he said, still not sounding entirely convinced.

Crowley ran his hand down Aziraphale's back and over his sensitive wings with a grin. "Wings are really sensitive for you, eh?" he remarked.

"It erm...it stands to reason, I...I suppose," the angel shuddered, "They're the closest link to my...ohh...my ethereal form while I'm in this...this body. Aren't yours..."

"Yeah," Crowley shrugged. "Not as much as yours though...s'the boiling sulphur bath, I guess. Never been the same since the..." he made a falling gesture with his hand and dropped it onto his lap silently.

"Oh, my dear, I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Aziraphale said, his voice sorrowful and hurt as he pushed himself up to look at the demon. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Crowley shrugged again and instead of speaking, he pulled the angel down to kiss him and they met in a tangle of needy limbs that moved frantically, trying to close even the slightest hint of distance between them. "I love you," Aziraphale said against his lips and the demon sighed. Aziraphale knew that that particular word was a sore point for Crowley so he didn't want him to feel as though it needed to be said in return.

"I...errr..." the demon gulped, pulling back a little from their kiss.

"Ssssssh, I know," he assured Crowley, "I don't need to hear it, I can feel it."

With a hiss of frustration, though at what exactly, Aziraphale wasn't sure, Crowley grabbed him forcefully, but not enough to hurt and tried to flip them over but he had to stop when one of the angel's large, protruding wings made it impossible.

"Pretty as they are, angel, your wings are...well, they're a bit in the way for this," Crowley said.

"Ah...oh...yes," Aziraphale said, and his wings vanished.

As soon as they were gone, Crowley flipped them over deftly and settled himself between Aziraphale's legs. "S'better," the demon grinned, "Want 'em out again now?"

"Wh..."

"Come on, y'know y'do," the demon whispered into his ear.

Aziraphale raised his back off the bed slightly, just enough to allow his large wings some room to unfurl beneath him and then he lay back down with a happy sigh. "A...are you sure it's alright..." the angel asked him, concerned.

Crowley didn't answer, instead he seemed intent on kissing the angel into blissful oblivion with his mouth unyielding and insistent against Aziraphale's. He greedily swallowed up every moan and whimper that the angel made and used his right hand to stroke the glorious white wings beneath him.

While it was true that the state of his own wings was a touchy subject for him, it wouldn't be right to deny Aziraphale pleasure because of that. Crowley knew that he was lucky to still have his wings after his Fall and a slight loss of sensation was a small price to pay for the fact that he could still actually fly. His wings were still quite sensitive all things considered, but not nearly as much as this.

He felt Aziraphale's arms wind around him with growing confidence and his legs tightened as he arched his back up to meet the demon.

"We're...not leaving...this bed...for the next...thousand...years," Crowley said through their kiss, "How's that...sound?"

"Mmmm," Aziraphale hummed.

"Maybe...two...thousand."

"Oh...m...maybe...t...three..." the angel said and he could feel Crowley smile, happily agaisnt his lips.

"Three it is," he said before he lightly bit down on Aziraphale's neck.

The angel breathed out a surprised moan and whispered the demon's name like a mantra while Crowley mapped out his skin again with his mouth. When Crowley got to Aziraphale's belly button, he stopped and put a hand on the angel's trouser clad hip.

"Still want these on?" he asked.

"W...wh..."

"Trousers, angel," Crowley clarified.

"Y...you're...not wearing any..." Aziraphale blushed and his eyes flickered ever so slightly to Crowley's naked legs.

"No, I'm not, but you are," the demon grinned.

"...Oh..." the angel blinked, as if only now just realising that.

"On or off, 'Zira?" Crowley asked, lightly kissing his chest.

"...Off," Aziraphale decided, boldly.

"Yeah?"

"Mmmm," the angel nodded, running a hand through the demon's hair.

Slowly, Crowley worked on undoing his trousers but when Aziraphale's hand tightened unexpectedly in his hair, he stopped and looked down at the angel. "What?" he asked.

"Erm...well...it's only erm...I...you know I never bothered with...anything..."

"Yeeeeaaaah," Crowley drew out the word, "Already had this talk, angel. Doesn't change the fact that you're the only one still wearing clothes here."

"Should I erm...that is...should I...miraclesomethingup..." he stammered quickly.

"I told you, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I...want to, I do," Aziraphale said, shyly. "I...well, you...I want to know...what it feels like. But err...well...I feel I should ask...out of politeness, of course...which erm...I mean, does it matter to you which erm..."

Crowley understood perfectly well what the uncomfortable angel was getting at and he decided to take pity on him. "Y'mean do I have a preference?" he asked, "Whichever you want, it's your genitals. Or, it will be. I've been either...been with either too, and with people who don't identify as either, now that I think about it. We're not technically either, anyway. We're not even human. But I really don't mind."

"Erm..."

"Look, we've got all the time in the world," Crowley said, soothingly trailing his hands down Aziraphale's shoulders. "You don't need to have either but if you do, that's fine and if you don't, that's fine too. If you want, you can try whatever you want and see what you prefer. Research, yeah?"

"...R...research...right," Aziraphale nodded at the familiar, comforting term.

"Breathe, angel," Crowley said, raking a hand through his tussled blonde curls.

Aziraphale whimpered quietly as his tattered concentration did its best to do something it hadn't done before. As far as frivolous miracles went, this had to be right up there, at least as far as Heaven was concerned, with miracle'ing a free table at the Ritz, but that hardly entered into his mind. Having never felt it before, he'd admit to being more than a little uncomfortable when the previously smooth space between his legs morphed miraculously into an aroused human penis. What he'd not been given was any time at all to adjust to the new addition and he fell back against the bed, his eyes closed against the onslaught of sensation of his newly formed parts being pressed against Crowley's body.

"Oh, god...that's..." the angel whimpered.

"Shit," Crowley mumbled, pulling his body off Aziraphale's. "Easy, angel," he said, "Geez, you're goin' from zero to a hundred there."

"Nmmm...wasn't...e...expecting...oohhhh...does it...a...always feel s...so..."

"Well, not always but y'know that's kinda why they have them in the first place."

"I...I...always thought it...it was a design flaw," Aziraphale scoffed and the demon snorted, amused.

"Questioning your Almighty?"

"S...seemed a bit...messy," the angel admitted.

"Yeah, kinda is, I guess. But it can feel really good," he grinned, "Want me to show you?"

Aziraphale nodded, forcing his eyes open to see the smirking demon snap his fingers, leaving him completely naked and he blushed from head to foot, whimpering in shock.

Like the rest of his body, Aziraphale's legs were curved, graceful, hairless, and dotted with small golden freckles. They were also strong and as Crowley found out when he finally touched the bare skin on the angel's calf, ridiculously smooth. Crowley worked his hand up past the angel's left knee, tentatively up onto his thigh and watched as Aziraphale moaned almost non stop.

Aziraphale was sure that the demon was taunting him by tracing his fingers so lightly over his skin and Crowley even started tracing patterns on him, moving to his upper thigh and back down to his ankles and then up again, but never any further. It was an odd sensation to feel the desperate pressure only increase towards his newly formed anatomy, when all of Crowley's attention seemed to be focused so intently on his legs.

The demon had started to kiss them now, following the same tortuous path his hands had taken, leaving small nips and licks against the squirming legs that he held steady. Aziraphale's whole body was writhing and he couldn't control it. He couldn't explain why but he knew that he needed to be touched but Crowley wasn't touching him where the pressure was building. It was unbearable.

"...Please...Crowley..." he moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, "Oh, god, it too much...stop..."

"Feels good though, doesn't it?" Crowley chuckled.

"No," he exclaimed, panicked, "It...it's...too...ohhh...it's too much, I...I can't..."

Crowley moved the arm that Aziraphale had slung over his face and lay it down on the sheets, lacing their fingers together. He was still careful not to brush his body against the overly sensitive, and for the moment, neglected angelic erection, and he kissed the writhing angel. Aziraphale's body though had other ideas and his hips bucked up to rub against Crowley's and the curse that followed was loud, wanton and desperate.

"Just relax, angel, let me make you feel good," the demon told him.

"Oh...p...please...please..."

Crowley's other hand trailed up Aziraphale's thigh and finally moved to ever so lightly brush against his straining erection. The angel threw back his head and his grip tightened around the demon, crying out in Enochian, the language of angels. The demon winced a little as the words tore though his skull leaving a dull ache, but it vanished quickly enough and it wasn't nearly enough to stop him. He moved away for a second, only to let Aziraphale begin to relax and then his hand returned to the head, trailing along up to the base and back again. Aziraphale was pushing himself up into Crowley's touch, whimpering in blissful agony, begging for more.

"Good?" the demon asked him. Since a coherent answer was beyond Aziraphale at that point, he didn't really expect one. "I can't believe you missed out on this for 6,000 years," he remarked.

"I...I didn't...k...oh...know...I didn't..." Aziraphale panted, "Ohhh..."

"More?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale nodded eagerly.

He delicately coiled his hand around the angel's now weeping erection and his fingers slid easily as he expertly pushed Aziraphale almost to the brink of pleasure, coaxing him with nimble fingers and gentle kisses peppered all over his legs. Then he replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing the tip and then using his forked tongue to snake all the way around Aziraphale's girth, drawing him into his warm mouth.

Shocked and awed, Aziraphale arced off the bed but Crowley's hand pushed his hips back down, his talented tongue not stopping its intimate dance. The angel's hands scrambled at the bedsheets but found nothing to hold onto until one of them worked its way into Crowley's hair with splayed, frantic fingers.

"Oh...oh, that's...oh, dear god," the angel cried.

Had he been able to, Crowley probably would've scolded the angel for calling out the Almighty's name, but being as his mouth was otherwise occupied, he couldn't. Instead, he settled for applying more pressure and drove Aziraphale quickly beyond the point of coherency. Since it was an entirely new sensation for the already highly strung angel, it was probably a miracle that he lasted for longer than a minute; it was about a minute and a half actually before he was completely undone.

Aziraphale called out for his maker, for Crowley and cried out in at least three different dead languages that the demon could recognise. Once again, he emitted a divine light but that too passed quickly and Crowley pulled away, wiping his mouth. He crawled up over the awestruck angel and lay next to him, letting Aziraphale wrap him in his trembling arms.

"I think I'm...oh, I see...just why humans are so...obsessed with...all of...this," the angel panted, "That was...glorious."

"Jusssst you wait, angel," Crowley replied, smugly, "There'sssss plenty more 'ressssearch' where that came from."

Aziraphale blushed but the eager and almost hungry look on his face was clear enough to the demon. He'd seen that look a thousand times over when the angel had found a new delicious delicacy and was intent on savouring each and every mouthful and then likely going back for seconds. Aziraphale was looking at him like he'd been given every single one of those delicacies that he'd discovered through this 6,000 years all at once. As well as if he'd found the rarest of rare books and the finest wine all put together too. Aziraphale let out an almost pained whimper and with strength that belied just how well and truly boneless he really felt, pulled Crowley as close as possible to kiss him. The fact that it could be considered quite unhygienic given where the demon's mouth had just been and what it had swallowed, never entered his lust addled mind. What it did register after a moment was the new and not so pleasant taste and he grimaced a little, wondering just why the demon hadn't gagged; it wasn't exactly a fine wine.

Noticing Aziraphale's expression, Crowley snorted and snapped his fingers; the taste vanished. "No one ever said it tasted nice, angel," he muttered. "Design flaw," he mocked and resumed their passionate kiss.

Aziraphale burrowed the fingers of his right hand into Crowley's hair while the right was wrapped tightly around the demons' back, holding him as close as possible whilst thanking his lucky stars that they didn't need to breathe. His wings seemed to have minds of their own and they interlaced right above Crowley's head, the right feathers slotting in neatly among the left as though trapping the demon in a soft, feathery prison. Crowley snorted as the feathers brushed over his back and he pulled away from the kiss, hissing a breath upwards to waft away a large stray primary feather that had come to rest over his head.

"We messssed up your featherssss," he noticed. "We'll have to fix 'em again," he said, grinning.

"...Mmmm...l...later..." Aziraphale said, shuddering in anticipation despite the pleasant exhaustion he already felt.

"Later," the demon agreed, "Much later."


	23. Ethereal Ocean

Crowley had come to realise that waking next to a sleeping angel was, without a shadow of doubt, his absolute favourite way to wake up. It didn't happen every day unfortunately because Aziraphale spent far less time sleeping than he did, although just lately the angel had been sleeping quite a lot. From exhaustion. Crowley took great pride in that fact.

When Aziraphale slept, his defences were down and his angelic aura was so bright it was almost blinding. But it was also warm and comforting and like the angel himself, it smiled at Crowley and wrapped around him like wings, brushing against his skin delicately. A human wouldn't be able to see it, but Crowley could. Aziraphale's ethereal being was practically leaping out of his human skin to be close to the demon. The angel's human form was already wrapped around him with a head of platinum blonde curls resting on his chest, but apparently, Aziraphale's subconscious mind deemed that it still wasn't close enough.

Demons were parasites by nature, they thrived off the misery of others, but in a more literal sense, they were actual parasites. They could leech energy from other beings and use it as their own. The temptation to simply steal the power that was on display would be impossible for any other demon to resist, but any other demon probably wouldn't have the opportunity to see it anyway. So, Crowley simply reached out a hand and touched the light emanating from the angel. It didn't burn, not even a little bit, it felt wonderful as he stroked it as he'd stroke Aziraphale's smooth skin, greeting the light with a gentle hello.

Except he suddenly felt himself being pulled, or gently but insistently tugged, out of his body and to a place of shining stars dotted amidst a might night blue sky. It seemed to go on forever and he was standing on an equally blue ocean as though it was as still as the wooden floor boards of the bookshop while at the same time, in the distance, dolphins and whales arched up out of the water and called out happily.

Aziraphale was standing not far away with his back to Crowley, a spec of pure white in an otherwise blue scenery. He was barefoot and was wearing his white robe, something he hadn't worn since Eden and his wings were stretched out behind him. He seemed to be looking up at the stars and he looked radiant as he stood underneath the moon and star light.

"'Zira?" Crowley called out, testing the 'water floor' uneasily with his foot.

"Oh, Crowley, it's you," Aziraphale turned around and blinked, just as surprised as the demon was. "I...erm...are you real?" he asked.

"Pretty sure I'm real," Crowley replied, walking over to the angel, "So...this is your slice of the ethereal plane, huh?"

Every angel, inside their mind, had their own version of 'heaven', in a very literal sense. Because Aziraphale was a storehouse of knowledge, it made sense that his version of heaven was a tranquil ocean away from all of that dizzying knowledge. So, Aziraphale technically had two havens in his mind, this one and his never ending bookshop / library where all of that was kept, because he loved his books.

"Erm...yes," Aziraphale said, suddenly sounding nervous, "Not that you're unwelcome, of course, but how did you erm...oh dear. It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Technically my fault, I touched erm...your light," the demon shrugged, "I can go if you..."

"No, no, I don't mind, love," Aziraphale replied, quickly. He wrapped both his arms and his wings around the demon.

"Those are my stars, aren't they?" Crowley noted as he brought up his hands to rest around the angel's wings on his back.

"Mmmm," Aziraphale nodded against him. "Did I remember them accurately?" he asked.

"Yeah," the demon replied, looking up, "Yeah, y'did."

"Good."

Not long ago, they'd flown among those very stars together with Crowley pointing out minute detail on each one and recounting amusing anecdotes to the enthralled angel who'd never strayed from his side as they'd flown.

From somewhere in the distance, a dolphin broke the silence with a happy sounding trill as it leapt into the air and then dove back underneath the water.

"Why dolphins?" Crowley asked.

"I like dolphins," Aziraphale shrugged, "They're really quite intelligent and rather good conversationalists."

"You've talked to dolphins?"

"Of course I have and they talked back. I'm an angel, I can speak to anything I like."

"I think it's just 'cause we talk about them when we get drunk," Crowley snorted.

"If that's the case then there'd be gorillas too," the angel smiled.

"Maybe you drowned them in this ocean."

"How horrible! Do you really think so?" Aziraphale pulled back, shocked and appalled.

"No, don't be daft," Crowley scoffed, "We're in your head, course not."

"Oh, thank heavens," the angel rested a relieved hand over his chest and sighed.

After a moment, Aziraphale sat down and pulled pulled down to lean against him comfortably.

"...Can't remember what mine looked like," Crowley remarked, "My haven from when I...y'know. Probably just had stars."

"She took it from you," Aziraphale inferred, sadly.

"Ethereal plane's only for angels," Crowley shrugged, "She took it like she took our ability to speak Enochian."

"It's not hurting you is it; being here? Would you like to leave? Come, I'll take us back," Aziraphale stammered quickly and took Crowley's hand in his.

"No," Crowley shook his head, "It's fine. It's...not bad...here. Let's just...stay for a while."

"Are you sure, love?" Aziraphale asked and Crowley nodded. "Alright. You may have been denied yours, but for as long as you like, you're more than welcome in my haven," Aziraphale told him, hugging his arms and wings around the demon again. "Whenever you like," he added, "Change anything you'd like. I don't mind. I'd like you to feel welcome."

"Inside your head?"

"Yes," the angel said, "Of course. It was honestly an accident, this. I was thinking about you and...well, I'm sorry. But I trust you completely, dearest, with my mind, with my body, my wings and whatever else I have to give."

Crowley burrowed his face into Aziraphale's shoulder and breathed out a contented sigh when words failed him. After a moment he managed to say, "Doesn't need changin', s'perfect," the words muffled a little. He brought up his hand to toy idly with the soft, lightly embroidered material of Aziraphale's robe over the angel's chest.

"I'm glad you think so," Aziraphale smiled.


	24. A Holiday

A.N. I guess this is like a whole mini story of snippets within a bigger story of snippets. It just seemed like more sense to upload these all in one chapter.

* * *

"Will you please tell me where we're going?" Aziraphale asked, exasperated.

"For the last time, no," the demon ground out. "It's a surprise. How many times do I have to say it, angel?" he bemoaned.

"But we've been driving for hours!"

"Barely **one** hour," Crowley corrected him, "I did say to bring a book. Just miracle one up if you're bored."

Crowley had sauntered into the bookshop that morning, demanded that the angel pack a bag, close the shop and driven him away without explanation of where they were going or why. "We're nearly there, anyway, so keep your wings on," he rolled his eyes. At first the angel's confusion had been fun, but now it was just exhausting. What Aziraphale didn't know just yet was that Crowley saw his taunting as the demonic solution to the fact that he was actually doing something 'nice' and oh how he hated that word.

After a few more minutes of driving through what was seemingly endless roads lined with trees, Crowley drove them up a narrow hill from which they could finally see a beautiful panorama of the whole of the South Downs.

"Oh, it's beautiful," Aziraphale smiled, his frustration now forgotten.

"S'pose so," the demon muttered.

He then drove the Bentley up to a modest, white washed cottage, its walls lined with ivy, and sash windows and a black slate roof with a table and chairs overlooking the view of the countryside. It was nestled beneath the trees and was at least half a mile from its nearest neighbour.

"We're here," the demon declared and let himself out of the car.

Aziraphale followed him quickly and stood looking over the roof of the car at the nervous demon. "Err...we're err...it's ours for a bit," Crowley mumbled.

"What is? You mean this charming little cottage?" the angel asked and the demon nodded.

"I'll get the err...the...yeah," Crowley muttered, grabbing two small bags out of the car and marching towards the cottage.

"Crowley," the angel cried and ran after him. "Is this a holiday? Did you plan all this?" he asked, stoping the demon from getting further away by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"If you don't like it we can..."

"I never said that, love," Aziraphale said, "I'm just surprised, that's all. You never said..."

"Meant t'be a surprise," Crowley shrugged, "S'what people do, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's a lovely surprise," the angel said, hugging Crowley with a beaming smile. "Thank you, I love it. What a lovely idea, a holiday, how wonderful. I'm sorry for being so rude to you earlier, really I am and after you went through so much trouble," he added, now understanding exactly why it had seemed that Crowley had wanted to torture him into madness. "Can you ever forgive me?" he asked, indulgently.

"You can make it up to me later."

"Of course," the angel smiled and lightly kissed him. "Now, let's go and explore this delightful little homestead you've found for us, shall we?" he said, eagerly.

* * *

The interior was a tasteful mix of modern and classic with pale walls and dark furniture, old oak beams, soft rugs, an inviting looking fireplace and a fully stocked kitchen. After they looked around they sat on the sofa with Crowley leaning against the arm rest and the angel lying between his legs comfortably.

"However did you find this place, my dear?" Aziraphale asked.

"I killed the owner and stole it. The body's in the cellar," Crowley said, dryly and the angel stared at him in obvious disbelief. "I'm serious, don't go down there, angel," he insisted.

"Alright, keep your devilish little secret," Aziraphale replied, fondly. "Regardless, this was a lovely idea, thank you," he said.

"Were 'holidays' your lot or mine?" Crowley wondered.

"Can't recall," the angel shrugged, "But it's a rather Heavenly idea, don't you think? A lovely reward for hard work."

"Y'know, people go into debt for holidays whether they've done hard work or not, angel, heaps of debt, loads of it, mountains of it. And debt was definitely one of mine. And bailiffs. That was a good day, that was, I was on a roll," Crowley grinned, devilishly.

Aziraphale smiled sardonically and shook his head. Only several decades ago he'd have berated Crowley for those remarks.

"I'm sure you were," he replied, "Very devilish of you, my dear," he added, resting his head back against Crowley's chest with a contented sigh. "Now, what do you fancy for lunch? I noticed we drove past a rather charming looking restaurant a few miles back and we have a well stocked kitchen at our disposal," he remarked.

"Oh no, no, you're not cooking, angel."

"But I've been practicing," Aziraphale pouted.

"Still no. I saw that soufflé you burned last time. It was...well there wasn't anything left of it. Hell would'a been proud."

"Soufflés are difficult. They're also not meant for lunch so it's really no matter and I **am** on holiday. Holidays are a time for indulging hobbies, I believe. I really **have** been practicing, love, and you must let me repay you for bringing us here."

"By poising me?" Crowley joked.

"You wound me," the angel mocked back.

"You'll live."

"Oh, please, dear, if it's no good then we'll eat out wherever you like and I won't attempt it again at least not while we're here. Angel's word of honour," Aziraphale smiled, craning his head around to smile at the demon.

Crowley grimaced at the beatific smile that Aziraphale was giving him. It was the one that he could never refuse anything to. It was the smile that had made him publicise Hamlet and various other things throughout history that he'd never have done for anyone else. But damn it, those big blue eyes and those angelic dimples could make him do anything and Aziraphale knew it. He growled and rolled his head back dramatically.

"Gah, fine!" Crowley exclaimed.

"Wonderful," Aziraphale beamed at him, sitting up a little and then planting a gentle yet victorious kiss on his lips. He then practically ran for the kitchen and Crowley was left sighing on the sofa wondering just when that manipulative, adorable smile had started and just when exactly the angel had learned of its effects.

"No soufflés!" the demon yelled after a moment.

* * *

"Well," Aziraphale smiled, setting down his knife and fork gracefully onto his now empty plate. "I think that was really rather nice," he remarked, "Nothing burned and neither of us appears to be poisoned. Quite an accomplishment, I'd say."

"You're sounding almost proud there, angel, careful," Crowley replied, dryly.

"Oh, pish tosh, I was merely stating facts," the angel waved a dismissive hand.

"Uh huh," Crowley snorted but preceded to lick his own cutlery clean nonetheless with a purposely long, forked tongue.

"Must you do that, dear," Aziraphale said after he gave a sudden, nervous cough, "I mean, it's not really very good table manners, is it?"

"I'm on holiday, I can do what I like, ssssssss," the demon flicked his snake tongue out in defiance and noticed that Aziraphale blushed and shuffled nervously. "Sssssure it'ssss jussst table mannersssss that'ssss bothering you?" he grinned.

"Well, of...of course," the angel stammered back. "After all, I...I did spend a lot of time imparting the great importance of good dining manners to you back when they started turning the whole thing into an art form," he remarked quickly.

"Urgh, don't remind me," Crowley sighed, "So many little bloody little knives and forks and tiny, stupid little spoons. Now that's Hellish and I'm definitely not responsible for it. Bring back Rome I say. Eat with your hands and eat till you're sick, what more do they need?"

"I'm not sure I miss that quite so much but I do rather miss togas," Aziraphale lamented, "But I much preferred dining as it was a hundred or so years ago. So refined. It's a shame it went out of style."

"Yeah, tragic," Crowley said.

"Still, there's always the Ritz," the angel said cheerfully, choosing not to comment on Crowley's obvious sarcasm.

"Y'know, they know our names we've been there so many times."

"I know, isn't that lovely?"

"Well, we spend a lot of money there...or so they think, so I guess it's in their best interest to be...errr...lovely," Crowley rolled his eyes. "S'pecially after you left a three hundred quid tip last month," he added.

"They brought us roses and candles," Aziraphale replied, "They deserved it. It was all very romantic."

"It was Valentine's Day, they were giving everyone roses."

"No they weren't," the angel retorted, "And you know it. Besides, the young lady who brought us our food was struggling. She's a single mother, you know and she's having a rather difficult time lately. I thought that she needed the money more than me."

"How do you even know that?"

"I erm...I might've sensed some distress and..."

"'Zira..."

"I'm still an angel, Crowley, I can't simply stop doing..."

"I know, I know," the demon snorted. "I just meant...you're too damn good, y'know that," he mumbled.

"Well..." Aziraphale blushed. He reached for his wine glass, embarrassed as Crowley once more, slathered his knife in the gravy remnants on his plate and licked it clean with his tongue.

* * *

Aziraphale was relaxing on the sofa, lying across it comfortably with Crowley settled between his legs and a guitar propped in the demon's hands. He was playing an old Spanish flamenco tune with deft fingers and the music held Aziraphale in spellbound silence until it was finished.

"You play so beautifully, love," Aziraphale smiled.

"Still think a piano's better?" Crowley asked.

"Admittedly, a guitar has its advantages."

"Like?"

"Well," the angel said, bashfully, tightening his arm around Crowley's waist. "This, for one," he said, nuzzling his face into the demon's neck, "We couldn't be sitting quite like this if I were playing a piano."

"Uh huh, and what else?"

"It sounds...quite different. But I like it. Whatever you just played sounded awfully romantic," Aziraphale replied, dreamily.

"It's a dance, angel," Crowley said, "A flamenco."

"Very different from a waltz," the angel noted, "I **do** enjoy playing a waltz. Would you mind playing another piece, dear?"

"A waltz? Or another flamenco?"

"You choose," Aziraphale placed a gentle kiss on Crowley's neck.

* * *

When Crowley flew, his movements were purposeful, confident, even perhaps aggressive as he barrelled his way through the clouds and frightened away any unfortunate birds that he happened to pass. Aziraphale though was graceful and occasionally flamboyant in the air as he made elaborate turns and dives with strong white wings which reflected the moonlight, making them shine.

"And they say I'm the flash bastard," Crowley rolled his eyes, smirking.

"I haven't been flying in months, dear, I'm allowed a little fun," Aziraphale retorted, happily.

The angel stopped, causing a strong gust of wind as he hovered and looked at the view of the South Downs. "What a wonderful view," he remarked, "It makes me wish I'd mastered painting like dear old John Constable. But I never did quite get the hang of it. Jolly good fun but far too messy."

"That's what cameras are for, angel."

"It's not quite the same though, is it? Still terribly creative, of course. I think the fact that I couldn't paint to save my life irritated him, he really did try his best to teach me."

"Who, Constable?"

"Yes," the angel answered. "You were asleep and things were really quite dull, I had to find something to do. But he gave up eventually. I don't think celestial beings were designed to create art. That's best left to humans."

"You and your artists," Crowley scoffed, "And your poets, don't get me started on the poets."

"I like art," Aziraphale replied as they continued to soar through the clouds, side by side.

"And artists," the demon reiterated.

"Well, yes. They create beauty from nothing, it's...wonderful."

"Never was much for art."

"You stole work from Da Vinci and you're telling me..."

"He owed me, okay, I did him a favour and he never paid up. That one seemed important to him so I took it. That's it."

"I see," the angel's lips quivered as he tried and mostly failed, to hide his smile.

* * *

"Syzygy," Aziraphale declared, happily.

"Oh, come on, that's not a word!" Crowley exclaimed.

"Yes, it is, love, and I believe that's a double letter score for placing a 'Z' on the correct square as well as a triple word score on the 'Y'. So, I believe I've won," the angel said after he flicked through the rule book with a victorious smile.

"No, no way is that a word," Crowley shook his head.

"I'm afraid it is, my darling," the angel informed him.

"How come you can use that and I can't use 'kwyjibo'?" *1

"Because **that** is not a word, whatever it is, it sounds ridiculous."

"No more ridiculous than 'syzygy'."

"I'm an angel, why would I lie?"

"Really?" Crowley scoffed.

"Well, I'm not lying about this."

"Right," Crowley scrambled up off the floor to stomp his way over to the bookshelf. "They've gotta have a dictionary here...ah, here we go...'s'...now...oh...crap..." he grumbled after a moment when he'd found the right word. He tossed the book over his shoulder and frowned. "I hate this game," he said, sighing heavily as he sat back down.

"You suggested it."

"Should'a known better," Crowley scrubbed a frustrated hand through his messy hair. "Right, new rule, no more bloody scrabble," he said, snapping his fingers and miracle'ing the board away.

"Was that really necessary?" Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Yes," the demon declared dramatically.

"It really is only a game, my dear."

"Demons are sore losers, angel."

"I promise not to gloat over my victory...Well, not much," Aziraphale added sipping his cocoa to hide his amused grin as Crowley groaned, flopping onto the floor.

"Angellllllll," the demon grumbled, dramatically.

* * *

An young woman had been walking her dog early one morning across the fields when she'd tripped and twisted her ankle. Aziraphale had been outside watching the sunrise and picking apples from one of the many apple trees in the vicinity of their cottage with the plan of making an apple pie or two. He'd heard the barking dog, been lead straight to the young woman and helped her to the cottage with the dog following behind and with his basket of apples in tow.

He'd seen her before, walking her delightfully friendly springer spaniel called Ben who adored Aziraphale because he gave him treats.

Aziraphale lead them into the cottage and helped her to sit on the sofa and raise her leg. "There you are, nice and easy," he assured her.

"Damn it," she hissed as she stared to remove her shoe, seeing that her ankle was beginning to swell. "You must think I'm such a clutz," she said.

"Oh, nonsense, these things happen."

"Well, thanks for helping me, Mr. Fell."

"Aziraphale, please."

"Then call me Beth," she replied, "I don't know how long I'd've been stuck out there if Ben hadn't found you. I didn't bring my phone with me. Another stupid mistake. Didn't think I'd need it, really."

"He's a very intelligent animal," he said, gently stroking the dog behind its ears with a smile. Before Aziraphale could say anything else, they heard heavy footsteps and Crowley calling out in a sleepy, disgruntled voice.

"Angel...where'd you go? It's sssstupid o' clock in the morning and I'm cold up here, damn it and I hate..." Crowley trudged down the stairs wearing nothing but his black silk, pyjama bottoms and scrubbing a hand through his hair as he yawned. As he stumbled down the stairs and into the living room, he saw Aziraphale handing a damp towel with ice wrapped up in it, to the young woman.

The half naked demon blinked in total confusion at the injured woman and Aziraphale and then shook his head. "Nope. No. Nu-uh. S'too early for this," he declared, turning around to go back up the stairs.

"Crowley," Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Nope."

"But, my dear, poor Beth here twisted her ankle..."

"Then she should be more careful. Maybe she should wait to go outside till the sun's actually up so she can see where she's going," he snapped.

"Please don't be rude," Aziraphale said to him and turned to Beth. "I'm terribly sorry, but Crowley here isn't a morning person and he gets quite irritable sometimes before he's had coffee. Don't you, dearest? He's really not all that bad once you get to know him," he said, looking from Beth to Crowley.

Beth smiled, amused but Crowley just grumbled under his breath.

"Would you like a drink?" Aziraphale asked her, "Tea? Coffee? I have an excellent selection of both."

"Tea, please," she replied.

"Splendid," the angel smiled. "Now, wait right here, I'll be back with your tea. In the meantime, do you have anyone you can call to come and get you? If not, I'm sure Crowley wouldn't mind driving you to..."

"Wait, what?" Crowley exclaimed.

"My husband, Tom," she replied, "He's at work but..."

"Right there we are, problem solved," Crowley said, quickly, "Call this 'Ted'..."

"Tom," Aziraphale corrected him.

"Ted, Tom, whatever. Call him and she can go home and we can go back to bed."

"Now really, Crowley," the angel sighed.

"We're on holiday, angel," Crowley muttered, petulantly.

"Come with me, dear," Aziraphale lead him into the kitchen with an exasperated expression. "I'm perfectly aware of that, but that doesn't mean I could just leave her outside on her own. She had no way of contacting anyone..." he said, quietly once they were in the kitchen.

"Then she's stupid as well as clumsy."

"You're being unreasonable. I know that you dislike waking up alone but I did leave you a note on the bedside table that I was going apple picking. I left early because I like the feel of the morning sun on my wings..."

"That's got nothing to do with..."

"Rubbish," Aziraphale declared and brought his hand up to gently cup the right side of Crowley's face. "You're always tetchy if I leave you to wake up on your own. I shouldn't have left so early. I'm sorry, love," he said.

Crowley turned away, embarrassed that Aziraphale thought him so needy, but it **was** technically the truth. He did get tetchy if he woke up and found himself alone in the bed.

"Just...get rid of her," the demon grumbled.

"But she's injured..."

"Then fix it and then get rid of her."

"She's seen the injury now, its far too late for that."

"Call it a miraculous recovery and come back to bed."

"You know we can't do that."

"Argh," Crowley growled, "Damn it."

"Now here, I'll make some tea and you can take it to her and apologise while I make us all some breakfast," Aziraphale said, happily.

A minute later, Crowley stomped into the living room and grumpily held out a steaming mug of perfectly brewed tea to the young woman. "Tea," he declared, needlessly.

"And?" the angel called from the kitchen.

"Err...s...sorry," he muttered.

Beth blinked up at him in confusion for a moment before she smiled into the mug of tea. "Don't worry about it. My Tom's grumpy in a morning too. He leaves for work early and he hates mornings as well," she explained.

"Happy, angel?" Crowley called back into the kitchen.

"Delighted, my dear."

"Fantastic," the demon threw up his arms and flopped down onto the opposite sofa.

"Perhaps you should fetch your shirt, Crowley," Aziraphale suggested, standing in the doorway between the two rooms.

"Why?" the demon asked, honestly confused.

"Decency."

"God in bloody..." Crowley grumbled, pushing himself up. "The things I do for you," he shook his head and left, "I want pancakes for this, you hear me? Lots of 'em!" he added over his shoulder as he walked off.

"He's really quite a nice fellow..."

"I heard that!" they heard Crowley shout angrily back and both angel and injured human laughed.

"It seems I'm making pancakes, Beth, would you like some?" Aziraphale asked her.

"Well, I don't want to be a bother..."

"It's no trouble, I assure you. I'm always delighted to help people," he replied and somehow, she got the feeling that he was telling the truth. "So, pancakes?" he asked, "They're very nice."

"Oh...alright then," she smiled back.

"Excellent, and I'll find something for Ben too," Aziraphale said.

It was sometimes easy to forget just how charming Aziraphale could be when he wasn't thinking of new ways to dissuade his customers from buying his beloved books. Most people, adults usually, tended to appreciate his calming aura which didn't work out well for his bookshop, but it did help when trying to win someone's trust. Within half an hour, the angel and Beth were talking as if they'd known each other for years and it helped that the woman was a book lover. What were the odds?

Crowley just rolled his eyes at them both and when he'd eaten his pancakes, he picked up his guitar and sat there strumming it quietly while they talked about books.

"Oh, I am glad to have found about her person out here who appreciates books," Aziraphale remarked happily after some time. "Perhaps one day you should come to my shop," he suggested.

"I'd love to," Beth replied.

"Nerds," the demon muttered fondly, blinking up at Aziraphale from his guitar.

Aziraphale just tutted at him, smiling. Meanwhile, Beth was staring at the two of them and wondering just how two people, who were clearly so different from one another, ended up so obviously in love that they practically embodied the 'old married couple' adage. She asked how they met and her reaction was a dreamy smile from Aziraphale and a shrug from Crowley.

"Ah," the angel began, "Now **that** is very long story. Let me see, there was a garden. The most beautiful garden to have ever existed."

"I broke in and knicked an apple," Crowley said, "Y'know, technically."

"Yes...I suppose you did," Aziraphale blinked, "I wonder that you never got into more trouble for that."

"You're kidding right? I was already in enough trouble before."

"Hmmm," the angel sighed, sadly. "Yes, well, there was a garden and an apple tree and...that's about the long and short of it," he said to Beth.

"It rained," Crowley said, "He got soaked."

"Because I gave him my...err...my umbrella. And after that, well, we just kept bumping into each other, isn't that right, Crowley?"

"Yeah, real coincidence," the demon scoffed. "Rome. Paris. That nice little place in Spain...can't remember the name...Peru..."

"London..."

"Essex..."

"Egypt, Pompeii..."

"Still not my fault," Crowley interrupted, but didn't explain.

"China, oh the Forbidden City, beautiful place. Venice, oh, remember Venice?" Aziraphale asked fondly as he continued.

"How could I forget it, bloody place? Stupid idea if y'ask me, building a city on water. Idiots. Someone pushed me into the water too, urgh, that was...disgusting."

"It was your own fault, dear, you were antagonising the locals."

"All I told them was...yeah, alright maybe I was, a bit, but it was still the truth," Crowley insisted.

"You...travel a lot then?" Beth asked, curious.

"Oh, it was for...work," Aziraphale quickly explained.

"Only perk o'the job, really," Crowley muttered.

"The travelling?" Beth asked.

"Yeah, sure, the travelling," the demon rolled his eyes, but didn't elaborate any further.

It was several hours before either Aziraphale or Beth remembered to phone her husband, Tom and then another half an hour or so for him to drive to the cottage. When she was gone, the second that Aziraphale closed the door behind them, Crowley, non too gently, pushed the angel into the door and kissed him, not allowing him to come up for air for several minutes. During that time, he very successfully messed up the picture perfect blonde curls, undid all of the dainty little, mother of pearl buttons on Aziraphale's white shirt and discarded the bow tie onto the floor. Fortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale wasn't wearing his coat or his waistcoat so it was fewer layers for him to peel back to reach the angel's bare skin.

"I can't...believe...you made me...do that..." Crowley grumbled as he began a trail of harsh nips and kisses to the angel's neck. His hands were cool against Aziraphale's skin and the angel shuddered.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale breathed, his legs feeling weak. "It wasn't...mmm...such a...a hardship...was it...s...she's really quite...oh...quite nice," he managed to say.

"You're gonna make it up to me," Crowley stated, seductively and the angel whimpered. "Aren't you?" he asked.

"Y...yes...o...of course...anything you...want..." Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and sighed.

"Good," the demon grinned.

* * *

It was the middle of the night and they were sitting outside drinking a fine wine and eating Aziraphale's home made apple pie. He was quite proud of it, it was delicious.

"What a lovely view," the angel remarked, looking up at the stars and then over at the rolling hills and trees all around them. "We've been in London too long. I'd forgotten how the night sky looks when it's not overpowered by street lights," he said.

"They ruined it," Crowley stated, confidently, "They ruined my stars."

"Oh, my dear. They do appreciate your stars, I'm sure," Aziraphale tried to reassure him.

"Yeah, sure, angel, sure they do."

"**I** appreciate them," the angel said, "I think they're glorious."

Crowley gave him a quick smile and returned his attention to his wine glass which he found was also the empty, so he refilled both of their glasses, generously.

* * *

Aziraphale was sitting at the piano, playing a melancholic tune with a distant expression when Crowley returned. He'd been to the nearest shops, looking for the angel's favourite pastries.

"That's...really, really depressing," the demon remarked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes...well, I was rather melancholy a hundred or so years ago when I wrote it," Aziraphale replied, finishing the music and then turning his attention to Crowley.

"This'll cheer you up, angel," Crowley replied, grinning and holding up a small box.

"Oh, you found some? How kind of you, my dear," the angel beamed at him.

"Well, we agreed, I lost at Scrabble so," he shrugged.

"You really didn't need to, but thank you all the same," Aziraphale smiled as the demon walked over to hand him the small box. Aziraphale opened it and took a dainty bite out of one of the pastries. "Mmmm, delightful," he remarked.

"Does it have a name?" Crowley asked, "That music?"

"No," the angel answered, "I don't usually name them. I wrote it after our...falling out. I went looking for you after six months, you know, I was going to apologise. But you were asleep and nothing would wake you. It was quite lonely without you. Which is why the song is the way it is," he said.

"Play something a bit more...upbeat, will you?" Crowley requested. He put his hands on the angel's shoulders and leaned over to kiss the back of Aziraphale's neck, lightly. He then flopped down onto the sofa and made himself comfortable. "I'm not gonna sleep for another century, I promise...unless they regress and have a repeat of the fourteenth century. Then we'd both best sleep it away," he said.

"Oh, I don't know, I didn't mind it."

"You spent most of it in a bloody monastery copying bibles and...being pious."

"Life in the cloister wasn't quite so easy as that, my dear."

"Well, I still hate that damn century," the demon grumbled.

"As you like," Aziraphale smiled and began to play a far more cheerful melody.

* * *

There was a traditional English pub not far, and for not far, read several miles away, from their cottage so, one afternoon, they decided to go for lunch. What they hadn't counted on was the poker game taking place on the opposite table or the fact that one of the men playing would be so disgruntled at seeing two other 'men' be so friendly with each other.

It was a sad part of life, but some people still couldn't grasp the idea of 'live and let live.' Aziraphale seemed content to ignore the stares and quiet chortles but Crowley wasn't.

"Bastard, who's he think he is, stupid fucking human..." he grumbled, angrily.

"Now, please calm down, Crowley," Aziraphale begged him quietly.

"Calm down? This is harassment and it's bloody stupid."

"Maybe so, but it's not the first time I've been ridiculed for...well, it's not the first time and sadly, I don't imagine it will be the last. Sometimes, they really do regress when it comes to these things and as far as they've come, they've a long way to go yet. Please don't let them spoil our holiday."

"Just one little demonic miracle and..."

"No, we don't need to cause any trouble here."

"Gaaaaah," the demon growled.

"You know, our dear sergeant Shadwell always calls me 'a southern pansy' and as amusing as it is, I don't believe he means it to be at all endearing. I honestly don't understand how they could find any kind of love offensive, but I find it's best not to antagonise them."

"But they're human and stupid, and you don't deserve..."

"I don't care what they think, I care about what **you** think."

"W...it doesn't bother me, angel. We're not even human, whatever stupid rules they come up with, it's not our problem, but damn if it isn't bloody annoying."

"Yes, well I do know one way to fix this."

"By making the roof collapse in right on top of them? By miracle'ing maggots in their food?" Crowley guessed.

"Alas no, love. I'm going to beat them at poker," Aziraphale said, perfectly seriously.

"Gambling's a sin, angel," Crowley grinned.

"Not at all. I won't be endangering anyone's life or livelihood and it's worked before," he insisted. "Far more effective than physical violence," he said, standing up and walking over to the opposite table. "Good afternoon, gentlemen and lady," Aziraphale smiled kindly at them. "I wonder if I might join you. I do quite enjoy poker," he said.

"You wanna play?" one of them asked, stunned.

"Yes," the angel nodded.

"What'd you wanna bet?" the other man asked, looking Aziraphale over and concluding that he must have something of value to loose. He didn't exactly look poor.

"Ah, will this do?" Aziraphale took off his ever present golden ring. "It's gold, worth a small fortune," he explained.

"Right, fine, you're in. Just don't go runnin' off to the cops when you loose."

Shortly after, Aziraphale was sitting smugly while his poker companions were in stunned silence, staring at the cards and at the angel.

"Well, now would you look at that, it appears that I've won again," Aziraphale declared and Crowley snorted.

By now, the game had a small audience and people cheered when Aziraphale won. Crowley had settled himself on a chair beside the angel and was half leaning against Aziraphale, grinning at the humans who, not long ago had been taunting them.

"B...but you...but I..." one of the men, Alex, stammered.

"Ah damn it, that's my brother's watch, he's gonna kill me," the young woman, Becca hissed and threw down her cards.

"How'd you..." another, Michael muttered.

"I had a very good teacher," Aziraphale replied. He picked up his ring from the pile and placed it back on his little finger, smiling at it.

"Bloody card shark," Alex shook his head, still stunned.

"Oh, perish the thought. It's just that you all have quite distinctive tells, I'm afraid."

"We do?" Becca asked.

"Oh yes," the angel answered. "Alex, my good man, you blink a little faster, Michael, you fidget, and Miss Becca, you grin," he said.

"Damn," Alex scrubbed his hand through his hair, "Never noticed."

"How the hell'd you see all that?" Becca demanded.

"I...notice things," Aziraphale shrugged, "Occasionally. And I read a very good book about poker tells and how to spot them."

"I gotta get this book," Alex said.

"Oh, I'm sure I could find for you if you like. I have plenty of books. I own a bookshop, you know, down in London," the angel replied.

"So...what're you doing here?" Michael asked.

"I'm on holiday," Aziraphale smiled. "It's quite a lot of fun, really. It was Crowley's idea," he said.

"He your err...boyfriend?" Becca asked.

"Yes," Aziraphale nodded although the word 'boyfriend' seemed insufficient to describe just what Crowley was to him.

"Shame. He's kinda cute," she admitted.

"I've always thought so," he replied, dryly.

"My ears work perfectly well, y'know," Crowley remarked.

"I'm relieved to hear it, dear," Aziraphale replied and the others at the table chuckled.

"Look err..." Micheal fidgeted, nervously, "About before err..."

"Think nothing of it," Aziraphale said, kindly as ever before Crowley could speak. He then pushed the small pile of valuables, the watch, the mobile phone and a set of keys, towards them. "Here," he said, "Yours, I believe."

"But...you won," Alex stated.

"Yes, so I took my ring back but I don't need any of this," the angel shrugged.

"Errr..." the human blinked, too shocked to speak.

"Thank you for letting me join your game," Aziraphale said. "Perhaps we can play again sometime," he added, then he stood up and held his hand out for Crowley.

Crowley took it, grinning and together, they made their way towards the door.

"Y'have fun, angel?" the demon asked, quietly.

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale smiled at him.

"Too bloody good, you are," the demon grumbled, "They were bloody star struck."

"Sometimes it works and other times it doesn't," the angel shrugged, "But it's usually quite effective. They're not bad people really, just misinformed."

"Y'know...tripping them up...or slamming their faces into their food would'a been fun too," Crowley stated.

"Nonsense. Then we would have been spending the rest of our day inside a police cell which I have have absolutely no intention of doing."

Before they opened the door, Crowley shook his head and planted a quick kiss on the angel's lips. Instead of derision, the humans across the room made loud cheers and whistling noises. It was hardly classy, but it was an improvement. Then, Alex and Michael called out to Aziraphale to invite him to their poker game the following week. The angel smiled gratefully and told them simply, that he'd consider it. Crowley just stood there stunned.

* * *

On the last night before they were due to leave, they were lying cosily underneath the quilt on a soft mattress. Aziraphale was running his fingers up and down Crowley's arm with a featherlight touch as he quietly hummed an old tune he remembered from Rome.

"I err...meant to ask," the demon began, "You err...you like it here?"

"Of course I do," Aziraphale stopped his melodic humming for a moment. "I've loved our time here immensely," he said, "I'm only sorry that we must leave tomorrow. Time does go rather quickly when you're enjoying yourself, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, err...well...see...this place...it kinda belongs to a neighbour...back in Mayfair..."

"So, you didn't murder the owner?" the angel asked, dryly.

"Err...no. But...they err...I told 'em I'd get back to 'em. See...they wanna sell it," Crowley said sheepishly, "But I wasn't gonna buy it till I knew..."

"You want to buy it? This cottage?" Aziraphale blinked and pushed himself up on his arms to look down at the slightly blushing demon who was refusing to meet his eyes.

"Well, the cottage and like...the three or four acres it comes with. They just want it gone. Getting a good deal, really I'm ripping them off...I..."

Aziraphale stopped him from saying anything else by kissing him and brining his hand up to cup Crowley's right cheek. He moved his fingers gently over the demon's cheekbones and pulled back after a minute or so.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Aziraphale smiled at him.

"...Yeah?"

"Yes," the angel replied, dreamily, "I could turn the spare bedroom into a library and there's plenty of room for your plants. I'm sure we could even build a greenhouse and you could grow food for us."

"Oh, I could, could I?"

"You said you've been wanting to try it for a while now," Aziraphale reminded him.

"So, you really wanna do it?" Crowley asked, seriously, "You really wanna buy this place? And...do what humans do...have...holidays here and argue over stupid furniture things and...what else do they argue about...oh, paint? We can argue about paint and all that stupid stuff."

"Crowley, my dear, I can't imagine anything more heavenly. Although naturally, I'd prefer it if we didn't argue. You know how much I dislike arguing with you."

"...Right," the demon muttered. "Right...well...I'll err...call them...in err...in the morning and err...we won't have to leave," he said as Aziraphale settled himself back against the demons' chest, sighing happily.

"Wonderful," the angel nodded. "I would like to make one small change, if you're amenable," he remarked.

"What's that?"

"The name."

"Name?"

"Of the cottage, love. Over the door, it's called 'Ivy Cottage'."

"Well, it **is** covered in ivy. Not really very creative but humans are stupid."

"Now really," Aziraphale snorted.

"So what's wrong with the name? I think it's weird that a building like this needs a name anyway."

"There's nothing wrong with it. I just think that if we're buying it..."

"I'm buying it..."

"**We** are buying it," Aziraphale corrected him, "Then we should rename it. And I'd like to call it 'Eden'."

"...Eden," Crowley repeated, surprised.

"Yes."

"Bit blasphemous, isn't it?"

"Not at all. We first met in the garden. I meant it nostalgically, not blasphemously. I feel quite certain that the Almighty will understand."

"Technically I saw you when you were made, before Eden..."

"But we didn't speak until then."

"Well, no...alright, fine, 'Eden' is it. You sap," Crowley shook his head and tightened his arms around the angel.

"Yes, of course, I'm the only 'sap' in this relationship," Aziraphale replied, sarcastically.

"And you're a smart ass."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the angel retorted and Crowley scoffed before he kissed the top of Aziraphale's curly head.

* * *

(*1) from an old episode of the Simpsons, they played scrabble. It's pretty funny.


	25. Not Exactly Fired

It had started like any other day. It was about a year and a half after the failed Apocalypse and Crowley had woken in Aziraphale's bed just as he did every day now. He woke to the alluring aroma of freshly brewed tea waiting for him on the bedside table which would miraculously stay warm until he drank it. He went downstairs to find the angel pottering about with the stacks of books out front and kissed him in front of several customers who either cheered him on or smiled indulgently. But what happened later that afternoon was definitely outside of their usual routine.

* * *

They were, of course, in the bookshop, Gabriel was standing smugly with Sandalphon, Uriel and Michael on either side of him as they all stared cruelly at Aziraphale.

"W...what?" Aziraphale stammered as he took a step back on shaky limbs.

"I thought I was being perfectly clear," Gabriel said, clearly delighted. "You are no longer the Principality, your services are no longer required," he repeated, "You are dismissed."

"But it's...but I've...for 6,000 years," the angel said.

"Not anymore."

"You're enjoying thissss, aren't you, you bastard," Crowley hissed at Gabriel who simply shrugged at him.

"Those are my orders."

"Bullshit," the demon growled, "You wanted this. You made it happen!"

"I thought..." Aziraphale breathed, "That I had...permission...to stay on as..."

"Yes, well, word travels. It simply isn't right for the Principality to be consorting with a demon down here. The majority rules you know, even against the Almighty," Gabriel replied. "I am, of course, deeply sorry to have to inform you of this. Your work has always been highly valued," he added though it lacked any kind of sympathy.

"I'll rip your wings off for thissss," Crowley hissed, taking a step towards.

Aziraphale grabbed his arm before he could get far though. "Please...don't," he begged, quietly.

"We can take 'em," the demon murmured back.

"Crowley...please," Aziraphale repeated, his eyes a somber mix of sadness and desperation.

Crowley hissed and growled and glared over at the archangels but he sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, "But I still say we could take 'em."

"So...I'm...fired?" Aziraphale clarified, his voice wavering.

"Correct," Sandalphon nodded, grinning.

"Then I've...what am I supposed to do?" Aziraphale asked, "I erm...suppose you'll be sending me back to..."

"Oh, we mean 'fired' as in the complete meaning of the term," Gabriel said, "Cut off, as it were. No way back home."

"Am I...Am I Fallen?" he asked, shakily.

"Surprisingly, no," the archangel said, sounding disappointed.

"Though of course, you still have every possibility of Falling, especially with your...lifestyle here," Sandalphon said.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Crowley growled.

"Then I'm...no longer allowed in..." Aziraphale gulped. It wasn't that he particularly missed Heaven or that he'd choose living there over his life on Earth with Crowley. But if he was cut off from Heaven, then in theory his power could simply wither away. He wasn't sure what would be worse, Falling and becoming a demon, or slowly feeling his Grace slip away from him and leaving him a powerless, empty shell.

"No longer allowed or welcome," Gabriel said, "You'll receive no more messages, orders or assistance should you ask for it."

"Y'never gave him any help before anyway," the demon scoffed

"You're pushing your luck, demon," Sandalphon remarked.

"What're you gonna do, shorty? Smite me?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale whimpered and the demon hissed again at the archangels. "So...am I...I to be...destroyed?" he asked them.

"They wouldn't have the first clue how to do it," Crowley grinned, "You're immune to Hellfire, remember?"

"Yes," Gabriel frowned, "And that really hasn't worked in your favour, Aziraphale. It's not...natural."

"Neither is a demon being unaffected by Holy Water," Michael said, uneasily.

"You're both...unnatural," Gabriel shuddered as though in disgust, "And I can't allow you, Aziraphale, to taint Heaven any more than you already have."

"Last I checked, you're not in charge up there," the demon remarked.

"Me...'taint Heaven'?" Aziraphale repeated at the same time, confused and hurt. "But I'm...I'm an angel..." he stammered.

"Are you?" Sandalphon asked, tilting his head, "You're tainted. You've lain with a demon," he scowled. "I can sense his evil all over you...disgusting," he said.

"Not only that from the looks of your ethereal being," Gabriel said, pursing his lip. "You shared your light with this...abomination. You've ruined yourself," he told Aziraphale.

"Who're you calling an..." Crowley began, angrily but one look at Aziraphale's heartbroken expression made him stop.

"No..." the angel protested, "No, he's not...I...I love him," Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow, "Love isn't..."

"Angels do not 'love' demons," Gabriel insisted. "It's...wrong," he shuddered.

"But I..."

"Look...you're no longer our problem. Don't try and contact us again," Gabriel said quickly, waving a dismissive hand before he turned to leave. He didn't say anything else as he and the other two angels left the bookshop.

When the door swung shut behind them, Aziraphale stumbled back against a bookshelf and his legs gave way, dropping him rather shakily to the floor and he hugged his arms around his knees, taking a deep breath.

"Angel," Crowley said but the word seemed to resonate with Aziraphale and he lowered his head, hiding it behind his raised knees as he started to sniffle and stray tears started to fall from his eyes.

"I 'taint Heaven'," he repeated, stunned and confused. "What if I'm...w...what if I'm f...fired because I'm...because I've...what if I'm...F...Fallen..." he stammered.

"Angel," Crowley repeated. He knelt down and put a reassuring hand on his lover's raised knee. "You're not a demon. You haven't Fallen. You'd know it if you had and you still feel like an angel. You don't sense any different to me no matter what those bastards say. Your light's stronger than theirs any day," he said, "I'll prove it. Show me your wings."

Aziraphale shook his head, sniffling. "Wh...what if..." he mumbled.

"Trust me," Crowley insisted. He moved his hand into the angel's fluffy platinum hair and gently stroked the soft curls.

Aziraphale let out the most pitiful sounding whimper that Crowley had ever heard before he slowly unfurled his wings but he didn't raise his head. He kept his face hidden as the pristine white feathers emerged from his back, releasing a soothing ozone smell and a pure golden light with them. Each feather was lightly flecked with gold and they looked as beautiful and as angelic as ever. They curled protectively around the unlikely pair of lovers and Crowley reached out to touch them.

"Take a look," the demon smiled and ran his hand over the feathers.

Aziraphale shook his head, sniffling again.

"Just take a peak," Crowley reiterated, "Just for a second. Trust me, angel."

Aziraphale shuddered before he sighed and slowly, very slowly, he raised his head a little and forced open one of his weeping eyes. When he saw the feathers he gasped in disbelief. "But they're...still..." he whispered.

"Yeah."

"I'm not..."

"Nope."

"But...I...I thought..." Aziraphale said, touching his own feathers with a shaky hand.

"You're too good to Fall, 'Zira," Crowley said, "If anyone in Heaven's gonna Fall, it'll be bloody Gabriel and if he doesn't, then I'll drag him down myself. Him and Sandalphon and Michael and all the rest."

Aziraphale snorted inelegantly as he continued to stare at his wings in disbelief. "I...suppose it was foolish of me to...to think that everything could just...carry on...as before," he lamented.

"But they let you," Crowley said, "They kept sending you orders. I bet this is all Gabriel's idea and it's got nothing to do with Her. She likes you, damn it, there's no way..."

"She hasn't spoken to me since I...gave away the sword. I'm not quite so sure. And it's not as though I can ask Her now," Aziraphale said, another tear making its way down his face.

"Well, ask Her anyway!" Crowley exclaimed, "This is important to you. I didn't care two shits about getting fired but you..."

"It's already done," the angel sighed.

"But..." Crowley began to protest, but Aziraphale leaned into him and sighed, shaking his head in resignation.

"You know how they are when they've made their choice," he whispered, sadly. "Please, love...just...just...hold me," he begged.

"Okay," the demon sighed, heavily, holding Aziraphale as close as he possibly could.

"They're w...wrong, you know," Aziraphale sniffled.

"They always are. They're idiots."

"A...about my love for you...it...it's not...w...wrong," the angel wept, "I know it isn't."

"I know," Crowley said, stroking Aziraphale's hair.

"I'd have...a...already Fallen if it...was and...even if I did...I'd still love you," Aziraphale said. He brought up his hand and clutched his fingers in Crowley's shirt against his chest.

"You'd make a lousy demon, 'Zira," Crowley said, attempting to lighten the mood. It worked, if only a little, the angel snorted through his tears.

The thing that tugged at his non existent demonic heartstrings was, that he knew Aziraphale was being honest. He would have suffered through becoming a Fallen angel if that was the price of them being together. But Crowley had told himself a long time ago, that if that was the price, then it was too high and he wouldn't let it happen. Every time he groomed the angel's wings he was always on the lookout for any hint of the feathers turning black. If he found even the slightest discolouration, he swore to himself that he'd do whatever it took to stop Aziraphale from Falling. But so far, there'd been nothing, if anything the wings had shone increasingly brighter and the fact that there was now gold flecks on them had shocked them both when they'd found them.

"...P...probably,' the angel nodded, weakly.

"Come on, let's get up off the floor," Crowley suggested and gently, he raised the angel and led him up to the bedroom. He snapped his fingers to close the shop and led the angel up to the bedroom and lay him down under the covers. He drew the thick, embroidered bed curtains closed on the four poster to shut out the world and he lay beside the silently weeping angel, bringing him into his arms. "I've got you, angel. You're okay," he said as comfortingly as he could manage as a demon.

Aziraphale sniffled and buried his face into Crowley's chest.

* * *

Eventually, Aziraphale fell asleep, he'd shed silent tears for hours and Crowley gently rocked him as they lay on the angel's four poster bed. After a while, and very reluctantly, Crowley slithered out of Aziraphale's embrace and miracled himself right into the middle of Saint Paul's Cathedral. By the luck of the devil, there was no one there and when his feet touched the floor, he swore loudly.

"Ah, shit...damn it...bloody churches," he grumbled, moving from one foot to the other. "Alright, listen up, I'm gonna make this quick," he said, looking up.

Strictly speaking, he didn't have to be on consecrated ground to try and speak to the Almighty, but he figured that it would help; it'd be like using a megaphone.

"You've done some shit over the years," Crowley said, "I mean...some o' your stuff puts what goes on Down Below to shame and I don't regret Falling. Not for one second! Y'hear me?! But Aziraphale...he's different. **You** should know, you made him that way, I was there! No matter what you did...the Ark, the plague...whatever...he's always stuck by you. No matter what I said. And you damn well know he always will so you owe him an explanation. This is gonna destroy him! He'll never be the same and you know bloody well that Sandalphon was bullshitting about 'Zira being 'tainted' because of what we...I wouldn't have even...He wasn't made to be a demon. He wouldn't survive it. At least tell him why you just...fired him. Just...bloody well tell him why or I'll storm the Pearly Gates myself and don't think I won't!" he yelled, pointing angrily up at the ceiling. "You're...you're a real bitch, y'know that," he added, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

With that, he vanished, re-appearing back in Aziraphale's bed with the sleeping angel curled around him as though he'd never left.

* * *

The following morning, a subdued angel awoke and remained in his bed. It wasn't usually his habit to lay around in bed all day, but he couldn't find the effort to move. The curtains of the bed had been drawn back and even the small Fig leaf plant in the windowsill noticed the difference in the angel's aura and it trilled comfortingly at him. He gave it a sad smile but said nothing.

"Mornin', angel," Crowley said, bringing Aziraphale his usual cup of tea. "Brought you that nice berry tea you like," he said, holding it out for the angel.

"Perhaps I'll drink it later, dearest," Aziraphale replied, his voice low and mournful still.

"You gonna get outta bed?" the demon asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"...Later."

"It's almost ten," Crowley noted, "Aren't you gonna open the shop?"

"Not today," he sighed, burying his face into the pillow and hugging the quilt around himself.

"Okay, well, at least look at this," Crowley said, holding out a white envelope with gold calligraphy on the front. "Came today," he explained.

Aziraphale sighed and opened his eyes, blinking up at the familiar envelope. "That's...is that from...but they said..." he murmured.

"No more post from Heaven, yeah, I know, but...here," Crowley said. He tugged back the quilt and pressed the envelope into the angel's hand. "Just...read it," he repeated.

"But what if it's..."

"Angel," Crowley rolled his eyes.

"W...well, you could read it first and..."

"It's got your name on it, 'Zira, we both know how these things work. I open that and I'll get a face full of Divine Light."

"W...really?"

"Yeah, y'never seen that happen before?"

"Erm...no."

"Well, it does. Go on then, open it," he prompted.

Aziraphale sighed before he sat up against the headboard and shakily opened the letter. His Divine orders had usually come via a white envelope addressed to him in golden calligraphy just as this, but Gabriel had told him not to expect any more. So what on earth was this?

It was a single sheet of paper, and it read as followed,

'_Beloved Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate and of the Ninth Choir of the Malachim,_

_Do not be distressed. What happened was for the best although my message was not delivered as it was intended. This will be addressed. To clarify; you are not banished, you are freed. You have served me well, but now I release you from your Heavenly duties to live as you choose. I have not banned you from Heaven and you are not removed from its Divinity. All that you are, is released from your duties. You owe me nothing, but I owed you this. If you choose, and I believe that you will, you may continue to do good works on Earth. A demon recently told me, from inside a church I might add, that you were too good for Heaven and I believe that in this case, he was right. But do ask him not to shout next time should he feel the need to scold me. I have a headache from all of his yelling. _

_You are both, two of my finest creations and your love is not wrong. I wish you both well. _

_Your Creator.' _

As he finished reading the letter, Aziraphale sniffled, trying not to cry again and Crowley blinked at him.

"What, more bad news? You gotta be kidding me, that heartless bitch!"

"No, love, no, it's not...bad," the angel corrected him. "Here," he said, giving Crowley the piece of paper.

Crowley took it cautiously and read it quickly, then nervously lowered it. "Err...well, I err...told you, She likes you," he said.

"Apparently, She likes you too," Aziraphale smiled.

"Bull," Crowley snorted.

"This...demon She mentioned..."

"Not a clue," Crowley said quickly. He folded the letter back up and slammed it down onto the bedside table, rattling the delicate tea cup on its matching saucer.

"You went into a church to speak to Her?" Aziraphale asked, stunned, "For me?" The demon said nothing and he was avoiding eye contact but Aziraphale smiled. He practically leapt forwards to hug the demon in his arms and his wings. "Oh, Crowley. Thank you, love," he said quietly, burying his face into Crowley's neck. "She says that you scolded Her," the angel said.

"Dunno what's She's on about."

Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh and sighed. "It was very reckless of you, dear. It must've hurt. Did you burn your feet?" he asked.

"...S'fine," Crowley muttered.

"But..."

"Wasn't there long, it healed up pretty fast," the demon explained. "Check if you want. I bloody hope that shit face Gabriel Falls for this. She's made angel's Fall for less," he said.

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Well, I do. He deserves it, the whole lot of them do," Crowley rubbed comforting circles on the angel's back and over his feathers. "How're you feelin'?" he asked in a calmer tone.

"Much better, thanks to you," Aziraphale replied.

"Well, I had a plan B, if you want."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but I don't think you'd've liked it. Was gonna bomb churches till She paid attention," Crowley shrugged.

"What?!" Aziraphale pulled back, stunned.

"Desperate times, angel," Crowley replied, dryly.

"Please tell me you're not serious."

"'Zira, I'd bomb a thousand churches for you," the demon said, taking Aziraphale's face in his hands.

The angel blinked at him and smiled. "As flattering as that is, my love, I'd ask that you don't. Unless of course, it saves out lives but I'd rather not make a habit of destroying Her churches," he said.

"Shame," Crowley replied, shrugging as the angel smiled at him. "Not nearly as many German bomber planes flying around anymore anyway, might've been difficult," he said.

Aziraphale shook his head and scoffed ruefully and hugged the demon again. "Thank you," he said, his voice sweet and warm.

"Anytime," Crowley whispered back.

"Now take off your socks," the angel demanded, "Show me your feet."

"Didn't know you had a foot fetish, angel."

"Crowley," Aziraphale scolded him and the demon sighed.

"They're fine, really, I..."

"Let me help you," the angel begged, "I don't like it when you're hurt."

"But I'm not, angel, I'm fine."

"Please," Aziraphale said and Crowley, once again, was reminded of just how much power the angel had over him.

"...Fine," he grumbled. He moved back from their big and leaned over to pull off his black socks revealing the soles of his feet which were lightly burned. It looked like a bad case of sunburn and didn't feel much different from it either.

"Oh, Crowley," the angel sighed.

"It would'a healed up in a few days. I didn't want you to worry," he explained.

"I'll always worry about you, especially because you refuse to tell me when you're in pain," Aziraphale replied. He ushered Crowley to lie down on the bed and he himself knelt on the floor so that he could see the burns. "This looks painful," the angel stated.

"Had worse," Crowley shrugged.

"Sadly, I'm sure that's true but I can heal you, so for the hundredth time, dear, please come to me when you're hurt," Aziraphale said, exasperated. "It might sting a little, I'm afraid," he added before he gently put his hands over the burns and they began to glow faintly.

Like everything else about Aziraphale, it was a welcoming, warm glow and in less than half a minute, the burns were gone.

"Thanks," Crowley muttered, sheepishly.

"Anytime," Aziraphale echoed his earlier reply.


	26. Netflix And A Fig Leaf Plant

On the rare occasion that Crowley now left the bookshop without Aziraphale it was usually just to return to his flat to water his plants. They'd never spoken about it, but it seemed as though the demon had moved into the shop along with Aziraphale afterthe binding spell had worn off. He ate there, he slept there, he'd even miracle'd his huge flat screen television there, much to Aziraphale's displeasure, though he didn't remove it. It was only a few weeks after he'd began to spend so much time there that Crowley had slowly made conscious efforts to do so, just to see how far he could push it. He did prefer the bookshop to his flat. His apartment was everything that he was 'meant' to have to keep up appearances. It was flash and modern and very impersonal. It was full of technology and it was the opposite of Aziraphale's bookshop in every way.

After 200 or so years of living there, the angel's divine light had seemed to permeate every corner of the building and after thinking that it had been lost, all burned to cinders, Crowley found that it was a great comfort to spend all of this time surrounded by that feeling of light and warmth. The warmth was especially appealing to him because he'd not long ago been stuck as a snake and he couldn't seem to get warm lately. He'd taken to hogging Aziraphale's collection of blankets and if he could get away with it, he move ever closer to the angel to steal his heavenly body warmth.

One morning, be returned to the shop carrying a small potted plant with him. It was of course, perfect, his finest one so far actually and he didn't want to leave it without his 'expert guidance.' At least that's what he was telling himself.

"Ah, welcome back, my dear, you weren't gone long," Aziraphale beamed at him as he sauntered through the front door. "Did you get the...oh, what's that?" he asked.

"Err...a fig leaf," Crowley replied, putting the plant down on stack of books.

"Oh, she's a darling," the angel smiled at the plant and it purred at him. It actually purred.

"She?"

"Yes, you are," the angel cooed at the plant, stroking its lush green leaves with a manicured hand. Those leaves curled around him and trilled in delight, starved of any kind words it seemed to adore him on sight. "Such a good girl, aren't you? You've grown so well," Aziraphale said to it.

"Angel, stop that, you'll ruin all my good work! They only grow so well if they're terrified of..."

"Nonsense, my dear," Aziraphale said, "Kindness goes a long way."

"Well, I was gonna let you have it...but if you're gonna be 'nice' to it then..." he grimaced dramatically at the word 'nice.'

"Me?"

"Err...present...surprise?"

"Crowley," the angel said, trying that beaming smile back towards him. "Thank you, that's very kind of you. But are you sure? I know how much you care for your plants."

"If you don't want it..."

"Of course I want her, my dear, she's beautiful. I know just the place for her. I'm afraid I have nothing for you though."

"Call it pay back...for...letting me bring the tv in," Crowley shrugged.

"Well, I do rather enjoy our film nights, so it's not much of a hardship," he replied. While he'd been against having such a piece of modern technology in his home at first, Crowley and won Aziraphale over with the idea of 'film nights', filled with wine, cocoa and fine chocolates.

"Understatement. You're a Netflix addict, angel. Happens to us all at first," Crowley grinned.

"I am not a..."

"Y'kinda are," the demon replied, smugly.

"Well, I...but..."

"Angel, you only just starting watching television, you've got a lot of catching up to do so no harm done. Speaking of...I know what we're gonna watch tonight. Or now...you can close early, you love closing early. Come on," Crowley dragged the angel gently away from the front room of the shop and further into the building. He snapped his fingers as he went to switch off the lights, lock the door and turn over the sign. Aziraphale didn't protest once.


	27. A Reluctant Archangel

It was about four years after the world didn't end and the day had started beautifully. By early afternoon, it found an angel and a demon in the park sitting on a tartan blanket in the shade of a large tree. Aziraphale had been listening eagerly to Anathema and Newt talking about their upcoming wedding and Crowley was barely faking that he was paying attention as he made passers by trip over their own feet with subtle movements of his fingers. Suddenly, everything around them had simply just stopped. Like a tv stuck on pause except everything had a white tinge to it, the colours slightly muted.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale blinked, lowering the sandwich he'd just been about to eat.

"You do that?" Crowley asked him, confused.

"No," the angel replied.

"Well, it wasn't me...so who..."

"Well, well, well," Gabriel said, strolling up to them casually. "Aren't you the poster boys of...Heavenly and Hellish...and Earthly co-operation," he said. Not far behind him stood Micheal, Uriel and Sandalphon.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale repeated, swallowing nervously.

"What's going on?" Newt asked.

"Just keep your mouth shut," Crowley muttered to him. He eyed the angel nervously and then glanced around for anything he could use as a weapon, but found nothing. He could hardly throw sandwiches and biscuits at the Archangels and two humans weren't likely to be of much help either. "Don't suppose you carry that hellfire lighter round with you?" Crowley whispered and the angel shook his head. "Plan?" he asked.

"They're Archangels," Aziraphale whispered back, shocked.

"Consuming...gross matter...consorting with a demon and humans..." Gabriel said before Crowley could utter a reply to his lover. The Archangel shuddered as though just the words he had said were disgusting to him.

"We were...r...really doing no harm, Gabriel," Aziraphale stammered back.

"I can't say I approve of any of this," the Archangel sighed, "But that's not why I'm here, Aziraphale."

"It's not?"

"No," Gabriel replied. Suddenly, his perfect suit morphed into a celestial, silver set of armour as though straight of a renaissance painting with an elaborately engraved chest plate as well as arm guards and his wings appeared with a soft ruffle of feathers. Sandalphon handed him a silver sword, smiling.

Aziraphale gulped at the sight and spread his own wings, moving so that instead of leaning against the tree they'd been sitting under, he was kneeling protectively in front of Crowley, Anathema and Newt, hiding them with his wings. "Please don't," he exclaimed, avoiding eye contact.

"You would defend a demon?" Gabriel scoffed.

"Yes," Aziraphale replied and very nervously, stared into the eyes of the Archangel.

"He is the instigator of the Original Sin!"

"And my dearest friend!" Aziraphale retorted, "And my lover."

"Well, that's very touching," the Archangel made a disgusted face and pursed his lip. "But I regret to inform you that I'm not here for him. Or the witch and the hunter," he added.

"Then what the hell do you what?!" Crowley demanded, moving aside some of the soft white feathers to glare at Gabriel. The group of Archangel's exchanged a shocked glance when they saw a demon so freely touching an angels' wings and for said angel to allow it without even flinching.

"Stand up, Aziraphale," the Archangel ordered. He snapped his fingers and then, Aziraphale's suit morphed into armour similar to Gabriel's and a sword appeared at his feet.

"Wh..." Aziraphale muttered, examining the silver arm guards in confusion.

"I'm here for you," Gabriel said.

"Me?"

"Consider it a performance review."

"But..."

"Prove to me that you've still got what it takes to fight in the Almighty's name, or we're taking you back home."

"B...but this **is** my home," Aziraphale shook his head, "And I was released from my duties."

"You're an Angel, Heaven is your home. You've gotten too...accustomed to them," Gabriel said, looking out at the people who were still as statues all around them. "It's...not natural," he said.

"It's in Heaven's interest to have at least one angel who...understands them, at least a little..."

"The Almighty might've denied any further application to have you Felled, but She surely can't have any qualms with us testing you."

"Oh, more bloody tests," Crowley rolled his eyes, "What is it with you lot and testing people."

"Be quiet, demon," Sandalphon glared at him, but demons were, by definition, much better at giving people evil eyes.

"Why don't you just come over here and make me, you..."

"Crowley," Aziraphale stopped him and grabbed the demons' wrist with his right hand. "Don't antagonise them...please," he begged.

"They're the ones..." Aziraphale turned to face him and his expression was enough that the demon growled, then hissed, then sighed. "Fine...damn it," he grumbled.

"I won't fight you, Gabriel," Aziraphale turned back to the Archangel.

"Then we return to Heaven...you as well."

"But surely...I mean...She herself gave me permission to stay..."

"Well, someone else will take your place. It's pointless having an angel here who isn't working. Whoever takes your place will, I'm sure, treat demons as they're meant to be treated," he added.

"By which...you mean..."

"Smiting them, of course," Sandalphon said.

"Of coursssse," Crowley hissed.

"I really don't think that's necessary," Aziraphale protested.

"We're angels, Aziraphale. We smite evil," Sandalphon replied, "You seem to have forgotten that."

"Yes, but not **everything** is evil," Aziraphale said, emphasising the word. Everyone knew that Sandalphon enjoyed 'smiting'.

"Demons are."

"Alright, enough," Gabriel said, stalking over to Aziraphale. "Pick it up and let's go," he said, pointing at the sword that lay untouched at the angels' feet.

Aziraphale sighed, not knowing what he should do.

"We can take him," Crowley muttered.

"No."

"I'm not just gonna let you..."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Aziraphale whispered.

"I can take care of myself," the demon protested.

"Yes, love, I know, but it's not worth the risk. We're outnumbered and outmatched," Aziraphale sighed.

"Pick up the sword," Gabriel repeated, getting increasingly frustrated.

"I can't do that. Please don't make me," Aziraphale begged.

Aziraphale had been made by the Almighty with his superior fighting skills in mind contrary to the outward appearance he preferred to display. Just because he was 'born' with said skills, it didn't mean that he wanted them. Much like Adam Young who was born to be the AntiChrist but wanted nothing to do with his birthright. Aziraphale was perfectly happy to potter about in his bookshop or in their cottage, emerging from their bed for lunches with Crowley and the odd good deed. He wanted nothing at all to do with fighting, he never had, but sometimes it was necessary and it seemed like this was one of those times.

"This really isn't necessary, Gabriel," he said again. He'd already said it twice now and both times he'd been met with the same response.

"Attack, Aziraphale," the Archangel ordered.

"But I can't," the angel reiterated.

"Fine," Gabriel scoffed and charged towards Aziraphale with his silver sword raised to strike.

Aziraphale leapt up with surprising speed and grabbed the sword as he moved, barely giving him enough time to block the attack. They struggled against each other for a moment before a bright light shone down from the clouds on them. A strong, confident voice spoke, loudly. "What is the meaning of this?" it demanded.

"Well..." Aziraphale bit his lip.

"Divine justice, lord," Gabriel said, boldly.

"I ordered no such justice."

"I believe that it is necessary," the archangel replied. "He," he glared at Aziraphale, "Was banished from heaven and he deserves..."

"I did not banish him. I made that perfectly clear to you, Gabriel. What you are doing is not my will."

"But, lord..."

"You will stop this and return to Heaven," the voice commanded, "All of you," the voice added. At that, Michael, Sandalphon and Uriel unfurled their wings and flew upwards in a hasty flurry of white feathers, but Gabriel remained. "You have one final chance, Gabriel," god said but the Archangel shook his head, proudly.

"Very well, Archangel Gabriel, you have made your choice. Here is mine. You have defied my wishes and acted for your own selfish ends. For that you will be punished. You are now Fallen," the voice said, solemnly.

"What?! No!" the Archangel cried but it was too late. A deep chasm opened up beneath his feet and then he Fell.

Aziraphale jumped forwards and grabbed the Archangels' hand before he disappeared completely from view but it felt as though all the demons from Hell were pulling Gabriel down. He used his wings and flapped them, trying to fight against the overwhelming forces that seemed determined to drag the terrified Archangel down.

"You cannot stop this, Aziraphale," god said, "This is my will."

"But no one deserves..." the angel said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold onto Gabriel's hand.

"I decide what people...and angels, deserve. And angels have Fallen for less than this."

"Me for one," Crowley snorted, "Let the bastard go, 'Zira. He deserves it."

"No," Aziraphale said, resolutely.

"Please, lord...please...mercy," Gabriel begged, "Aziraphale...don't let go..."

"Aziraphale, release him," god commanded.

"I..."

"Angel of the Eastern Gate, I order you to release him."

"But..."

Before Aziraphale could say anything more, a wave of bright light struck out and it knocked him aside like a rag doll although he landed gently. Gabriel would have no such luck. With a desperate cry, the Archangel Fell and the chasm closed up, leaving no sign that it had ever been there.

Aziraphale blinked down at the now unmarked patch of grass where the chasm had been and he pushed himself up onto his knees.

"It is done," god declared.

"How could you just..." the angel trailed off, "He was terrified."

"They always are."

"He was begging for mercy!"

"They always do. Why does this affect you so? Gabriel would have done you harm. Would have done your friends harm. He lied to you about being banished."

"You Felled him," Aziraphale stated, as though that answered the question well enough.

"He defied me too much."

Aziraphale sighed and it sounded as though the light did the same. "I'd been praying to hear your voice again for long," he admitted, "Now that I have, it seems bittersweet."

Over the last few years, Aziraphale would be the first to admit that he'd changed quite a bit. Before, even the thought of speaking to his maker would have caused him to stutter and stammer with worry, now here he was questioning the almighty. Perhaps that was a bad idea, part of his mind told him, that was what had brought about Crowley's downfall after all. But after the failed Apocalypse and his relationship with Crowley, something in him seemed to change. He looked at the past differently. He saw the almighty a little differently. Especially now. Even She wasn't infallible. She too made mistakes.

"You could have told him what he'd done wrong, you didn't need to Fell him. Surely there was another way..."

"There was not. He will be stripped of his name, his rank and his Grace. That is his punishment."

"And mine? I tried to defy you too. I tried to save him. What is my punishment?" the angel asked, sadly.

"You must take his place. There must always be seven Archangels."

"Me? A...no...I can't...I'm not..."

"That is my decision," the voice said and the light shone brightly around Aziraphale. His wings seemed to grow and his halo shone with blinding light before it vanished and left him, still kneeling on the grass. "Rise, Archangel Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate. The Ninth Choir of the Malachim is now yours to command and the former Archangel Gabriel's duties are now yours."

"But I thought I was...released from my duties."

"Gabriel has begun an attitude of dissent among the Archangels which cannot be allowed to continue. You must change it. I will not allow another uprising. I will not bind you to heaven, you are still free to live here on earth if that is your wish. But I am...asking...for your help," She said.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a stunned glance at the utterance for Her doing something so strange as 'asking'. It was unheard of. She simply decided what to do and it was done. There was no 'asking' involved.

"Asking me for...but I...I wouldn't even know where to begin..."

"They will report to you here. They will have my orders that they are to change or to follow in Gabriel's footsteps. In time, you will see this as an opportunity. I will send further instructions to you soon," the voice said and then both it and the light faded away.

Once the light was gone, Aziraphale was left standing with his large wings spread behind him and his halo still glowing. He was still wearing the celestial armour that Gabriel had miracled and he raised his hands to his face. "Shit," he muttered to himself. His voice had a slight, otherworldly echo to it and Crowley reasoned that it was probably a result of his promotion to Archangel. It would take a while for Aziraphale to acclimatise to the increase in his power.

He then tore off the elaborate arm guards and tossed them onto the floor. "Shit," he repeated. He began pacing back and forth, wringing his hands together as he moved. He didn't even notice that his wings were so much larger now that the feathers were dragging along the grass behind him and that they were leaving trails of wild flowers blooming in his wake. "Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled again.

"Errr...angel," Crowley said, but the angel didn't hear him.

"Did we just..was that...y'know..." Anathema pointed up weakly at the clouds, "That was a woman's voice. Was that..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Crowley waved a dismissive hand at her, "Almighty god, yeah, sure. She's a real bitch though."

"God?" the witch blinked in disbelief, turning to stare at her equally shocked fiancé.

"You saw the devil himself a couple 'o years ago and the antichrist. Why's this shock you so much?" Crowley snorted.

"Aren't people gonna err...notice the erm...the wings and...stuff?" Newt wondered aloud after the shock of everything they'd seen and heard began to fade a little.

"I've stopped time for a bit," the demon answered, "But I can't stop it forever."

"Oh..." the witch hunter blinked and looked around, only now noticing that people were indeed still unmoving as though frozen all around them but they lacked the white hue from before.

"Angel," Crowley repeated, slightly louder than before. When he got no answer again, he began taking cautious steps over to his pacing lover and eventually, he was standing right in front of the angel, preventing him from pacing any further. He grasped Azirapahle's hands in his own and looked into the angel's panicking, shining blue eyes. "'Zira?" the demon said, "Hey."

"Crowley," the angel breathed, his voice still echoing but it sounded afraid.

"You need to tone down the light, 'Zira," Crowley told him, gently reaching up with one hand to cup the side of Aziraphale's cherubic face. "Can you do that?" he asked.

Aziraphale whimpered but nodded and then, slowly, the light faded as did his halo. "Wings next," Crowley said. The angel nodded again and the wings faded away as well. "Now the armour," the demon prompted. Again, Aziraphale complied and miracled the celestial armour away, leaving him wearing his usual suit. "Better," Crowley smiled at him.

"What are we going to do?" the angel asked him, his voice pleading, but still echoing.

"'Bout what?"

"She made me...an Archangel. I'll have to go back to Heaven and...I'll have to leave and I can't take you with me and..."

Crowley drew his arms around the panicking angel and let him rest against his chest. Aziraphale was edgy and shaking but he quickly relaxed against the demon with a sigh. "I didn't want this," the angel murmured.

"I know."

"I tried to save him. I don't even...we never...got along, really. But I tried..."

"I know," Crowley repeated, bringing a hand up up tangle his fingers through the angel's platinum curls.

"Am I a fool?"

"Maybe," Crowley replied, snorting and the angel gave a shaky scoff in reply. "She said...the other Archangel's'll be coming here, right? Maybe you won't have to. Besides...I won't let you. There's no way I'm gonna just let you go," he said, determined.

"We were having such a lovely day," Aziraphale lamented. "All I wanted was to just stay here with you, that's all," Aziraphale mumbled, "In our cottage."

"And you will," Crowley said, hugging him tightly, "I promise. You're mine, 'Zira, and demons don't share."

"I feel strange," the angel admitted.

"You got promoted, She doesn't do that often. Bound to feel weird, I guess," Crowley replied, still stroking his hand comfortingly through the angel's hair. "Come on, let's go home. Yeah?" he asked and the angel nodded silently, "Bentley's not far. We'll be back before y'know it."

Crowley began to lead the angel away but Azirapahle stopped and turned back to the two humans. "But what about..." he said.

"Don't worry about it," Anathema smiled, "Rain check."

"Rain?" Aziraphale blinked, confused at the sunny, cloudless sky.

"Urgh," Crowley rolled his eyes, "It means, catch you later."

"Ah," the angel replied, still looking quite confused. "Yes, 'rain check' it is," he said nonetheless.

"Call us when...erm...just give us a call, okay?" the witch said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," Crowley grumbled and began to gently pull Azirapahle away again. "Come on, angel," he said.

They left two very stunned humans behind, but they were humans accustomed to dealing with strange and unusual things and they were honestly the last thing on Crowley's mind anyway.

* * *

The drive from London to their cottage in the South Downs only took a record breaking twenty minutes during which time, Aziraphale didn't say a single word. He'd simply stared out of the car window and no matter how many times Crowley asked him if he was okay, he didn't answer beyond a muttered 'mmm' which didn't really count as a word.

Crowley lead him into the cottage and to the comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace. "You want anything, angel? Wine? Hot chocolate? There's apple pie left..." he asked, kneeling before the silent angel.

Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley sighed, grasping the angel's hands tightly in his own. "Say something...please," the demon begged.

"I don't know...what to say," Aziraphale whispered, "Gabriel...he Fell because of me. If I hadn't let him..."

"He Fell because She decided it, it had nothing to do with you, angel. You tried to help the bastard. That's more than any other Fallen angel got. I know what he's in for and he deserves every bit of it. Trust me."

"No one deserves it. **You** didn't," Aziraphale replied, sadly, "If I'd been there when She...I would have tried to save you. And if I couldn't...I'd have Fallen after you."

"Don't say stupid things like that," Crowley snapped.

"It's not stupid. I mean it."

"That's why it's bloody stupid. I don't want you to ever know what that feels like," Crowley said, his hands gripping Aziraphale's even more tightly now. "I thought...you were questioning Her...I know She likes you...but I was worried that She might..." he trailed off.

"I confess...I wasn't thinking," the angel hung his head, "I'm surprised She didn't. I was...brazen. I don't know what came over me."

"It's kinda hot...you talking back to Her and getting away with it. But...still don't risk it again," Crowley said, "I'll do all the questioning and the insulting for both of us."

"Alright, love," Aziraphale gave him a weak smile and the demon bruising grip on his hands loosened a little.

Crowley stood and then flopped down on the sofa beside Aziraphale. He curled up as close as he could get and with his hand on the nape of the angel's neck, he rested Aziraphale's head gently on his chest.

"Your wings got bigger, y'know," Crowley said after a moment.

"What's that, dear?"

"Your wings, they got bigger when She promoted you. They were dragging on the floor."

"Oh, well that's quite inconvenient," Aziraphale remarked, "Come to think of it, they did feel a little more weighty than usual."

"You're an Archangel now," Crowley remarked.

"Yes...I suppose I am," the angel sighed and buried his head further against Crowley's chest, closing his eyes.

"I bet I'm the only demon ever who gets to fuck an Archangel," the demon grinned, mockingly.

"Shhh," Aziraphale scolded him, "You were the only demon to ever touch an angel of any rank. And please don't call it that, it's so crude."

"If you can call it what you want, I can call it what I want."

"You're so childish sometimes, love," Aziraphale retorted.

"Don't care. I'm still proud," Crowley grinned.

"What are we going to do?" the angel asked, seriously. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to be a heavenly bureaucrat. When She told me that I was free I thought..."

"Guess that was before Gabriel decided to go solo and get himself Felled," Crowley spat angrily, "He always ruins everything. I hope he's having fun down there." He pulled Aziraphale closer to him and held on as though the angel might vanish at any moment. "And I told you; you're all mine, angel. I'm not gonna share with Heaven. They lost any right they had when they were gonna burn you in Hellfire," he said.

"That's very sweet of you, Crowley, but what if..."

"No, there's no 'if'. I don't care what She wants. I don't care if there's another civil war brewing up there. They can all bloody Fall for all I care. But you aren't going anywhere, understand?" Crowley asked, forcefully.

Aziraphale nodded and gave a sardonic, but fond smile. "Perfectly, dear," he replied, wishing with all his might that it would be that simple.


	28. A Bubble Bath

There were many things that ethereal and occult beings simply didn't **need** to do. They didn't need to sleep. They didn't need to eat. They didn't have to buy things; whatever they wanted they could simply miracle into existence so therefore they didn't need anything as mundane as money or a job either. Their appearances never varied beyond small superficial changes which tended to be demons and their vanity, so they didn't even have to bathe because they could simply miracle themselves clean. They were above all of that.

But Aziraphale had had long since discovered that he was something of a hedonist. He loved a lot of things that angels should deem to be unnecessary. He loved good food and even better wine. He loved buying what were, in his opinion, stylish clothes. He'd recently discovered that sleeping wasn't all that bad either. But what he'd enjoyed for decades now sitting alone in his bathroom and taking a lovely bubble bath with a glass of wine and a good book. The fact that his dearest friend was trapped as a snake and had been for about a week and a half, and had been growing increasingly bored from being stuck inside, should probably have made him think twice. But it didn't. Really, what were the odds that Crowley was even awake; he was a lazy, sleepy snake just lately. It was worth it just to take half an hour to himself for a bath.

Bubble baths had seemed at first like a frivolous indulgence when people had been used to copper baths in front of the fire, but Aziraphale loved it. He always laid out a pile of towels around the large bath because he tended to sit there with his wings draped out on either side, soaking his feathers in soothing bubbles and because his skin wouldn't shrivel, unless he told it to and really why would he, he could sit there for as long as he wanted. Sitting back, up to his shoulders in bubbles, his wine glass along with a small box of exquisite chocolates hovering within arms reach and a book in hand, he was in heaven, metaphorically speaking of course.

Without looking away from his book, he stretched out his arm and reached for the last of the chocolates only to discover that the box was empty. He was sure that he'd had at least one left.

"Sssssnoozzze you loossssse, angel," Crowley hissed and the angel actually yelped in shock.

He fumbled with the book and it landed with a splat into the bubbly water and his eyes widened in shock. "Oh no," he bemoaned, lifting it out of the water. "Oh, my book," he lamented, studying the soaking volume. The floating wine glass had also fell to the floor with his concentration gone and it smashed all over the tiles, spilling red wine everywhere.

"Jusssst miracle it clean then," the snake suggested, "And I'd clean that glasssss up while you're at it as well."

Aziraphale sighed and turned to look at him. The large black snake was coiled up onto the bath and with his head outstretched, which was presumably how he'd reached the last chocolate.

"W...w...what on earth are you doing in here?" the angel asked, shrinking back down as far as he could into the bubbles, blushing. His wings jolted and came to wrap around him as best the he could manage.

"Well, I wassss wondering why you had a bathroom," Crowley replied, sounding smug, "It'sss not like we ever need to ussssse the loo, issssss it?"

"Yes, well, now you know, now...please," Aziraphale said, "A little privacy wouldn't go unappreciated."

"Oh, why ssssso ssssshy?" Crowley chortled.

"Crowley!"

"What? It'ssss not like you've got ssssomething I've never ssseen before," the demon said.

"I'd really rather you just..."

"Unlessss you really do, in which casssse, I'm intrigued."

"Will you..."

"We're 6,000 years old, how can you still be acting like a teenager about being naked?"

"We were never teenagers," Aziraphale muttered and indeed they hadn't been. Angels had simply been created as they were and since demons had once been angels, neither had they.

"Then sssstop blushing like one," the snake smirked, "I remember the days when bathing was a public affair. So should you."

"Yes, and I was never keen on it at all. Some things should be...well...private."

"Nah, if you asssk me, the day they closed the public bathssss issss the day ssssociety went downhill."

"Fascinating I'm sure, now for the last time, will you please leave?"

"I've never had a bubble bath though," Crowley remarked, tilting his head.

"Then try it in your **own** bathroom."

Ignoring him, Crowley stretched out his tail and flicked at a bubble, hissing at it. He then brought his tail to his nose and sniffed it with his forked tongue. "Smells like strawberries," he remarked and the angel blushed again. "You're having a strawberry bubble bath? Bit of an unnecessary indulgence, isn't it?" he grinned.

"So is sleeping, but I don't laugh at you for it," Aziraphale retorted.

"You sleep now too," Crowley said, "Even taking afternoons naps now, aren't you?" he smirked.

"Well..." the angel shifted uneasily, using his arms to scoop the bubbles closer around himself. He ruffled one of his wings at Crowley, trying to 'shoo' him away but it didn't work. He noticed that the snake was staring intently at the bubbles and moving slowly closer towards them. The angel held up a hand in warning. "Crowley, no," he insisted.

"What?" Crowley asked, innocently.

"You are **not** getting in this bath," Aziraphale stated, firmly even though he was still flushed.

"Would I do that?" he asked, dryly.

"You've been doing the oddest things lately, I wouldn't put it past you," he said. For starters, when he'd been sleeping for a few hours he'd woken to find Crowley curled up right next to him. Granted he'd been sharing his body heat, but it was one thing to sit on a sofa with him and quite another to find out that his best friend had invited himself into his bed. Crowley seemed to delight in embarrassing him just lately especially since he'd found Aziraphale reading, what he presumed to be a rather raunchy book whilst entertaining some quite unangelic thoughts about him.

"Like what?" Crowley hissed.

"Like s...sleeping in my bed...w...with me in it," Aziraphale stammered.

"I wassss ssssharing your body warmth," the snake replied, innocently, "Did you want me to freeze?"

"I'd left the fire lit for you."

"You're warmer."

"You're acting very peculiar," Aziraphale noted, not so subtly changing the subject.

"I'm a sssssnake, 'Zira. Sssssnake's'll do anything to keep warm. We're greedy," he grinned and slithered into the warm water, easily passing by the dripping wet wings. The snake's head emerged from the bubbles and rested lazily on the side of the bath with a smug sounding hiss. "Not bad," he remarked, flicking the angel's foot with his tail.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed, huddling his knees up to his chest.

"Yessssss?"

"You...you h...haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? Sharing baths is not something that f...friends do."

"Dependsss when and where in hissstory you mean. People did in Rome and in Japan some still do," he retorted. "Besidesssss...I'm a ssssnake right now, so technically I'm a pet remember. Humans take baths with their pets ssssometimessss. Humans get very, very attached to their pets," he said, dragging his tail up the smooth skin on Aziraphale's calf and he yelped again.

"I...I'm sorry I called you a pet, but how else was I meant to explain having a snake in my shop? You seem to like making your presence known to everyone who comes in so I have to say something. I...I can't very well say that you're my friend t...temporarily trapped with a binding spell, now can I? Will you s...stop that?!" he broke off when Crowley's tail neared his knee. He kicked out with his leg and knocked the tail away.

"Sssstop what?" Crowley asked in that same innocent tone he seemed so fond of.

"S...stop doing **that**!"

"What?"

"You know perfectly well what, you old serpent!" Aziraphale frowned at him and splashed a good deal of water and bubbles at the snake as though it would somehow scare him away.

Crowley spluttered and shook the bubbles off his head and then stared in shock at the angel. "Did you actually jusssst...ssssplassssh me? Did you really jusssst do that?" he scoffed, "I think you're devolving into infancy now, angel."

"We didn't have an infancy either."

"Could've fooled me," Crowley muttered. He swirled his tail in the bubbles watching it for a second before he flicked the bubbles back at the angel.

Aziraphale spluttered as the bubbles landed on his face and he hastily wiped them away, blushing. "Crowley!" he exclaimed.

"Yessssss?" the snake asked, innocently. Then when the angel harrumphed and tutted at him, he did it again. He flicked his tail and slashed the bubbles right at the indignant angel's wings.

"Stop it!" Aziraphale complained.

"But it'ssssss funny and you ssstarted it," Crowley replied.

Aziraphale pursed his lip and, unable to angry at the amused expression on his friends' face, he raised an eyebrow and retaliated just as childishly. He giggled as the snake spluttered at the onslaught of water, much more than he could flick with his tail.

"Yes, it is funny," the angel said, still giggling gleefully.

"You're gonna pay for that, 'Zira," Crowley warned, drawing back his tail to coil it up and flick it out forcefully at the angel.

Aziraphale spluttered indignantly before he retaliated. He gave a delicate flick of his wrist in the air and a flurry of bubbles miraculously appeared to land on Crowley's head. "Cheater!" the snake exclaimed as Aziraphale giggled. Crowley used his tail and wiped off the bubbles from his face.

"Alright, I rather think were even now, dear, that's quite enough," Aziraphale declared, noticing that a good deal of the water had splashed over the floor and the level in the bath was now a good two inches lower than before. He drew his wings around him, embarrassed at the fact that the water and bubbles were no longer hiding him as much as he'd like.

"Then I win?" Crowley threateningly held up his tail.

"I wasn't there was a competition, but yes, fine, you win."

"Hell always wins," the demon said, smugly.

"I think not. But in this case, Heaven concedes out of...decency," Aziraphale said, hiding behind his sopping wet feathers.

"Ssstill a victory."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and his blush, which had steadily been growing, was now a fetching shade of pinkish red on his cherubic cheeks. "Err...yes, well...right then," he muttered, suddenly uneasy now that he'd stopped laughing.

With a wave of his hand, he vanished from the bath and was suddenly standing there wearing his trousers and an untucked white shirt but still with dripping wet wings. "Goodness, these will take some drying out," he noted, bringing a wing around so that he could touch it.

"Could jussst miracle them dry," Crowley said, still lounging in the warm water.

"Oh, you know as well as I do that it's just not the same. It never feels quite right when you do that," Aziraphale said. It was easy and far less confusing to focus on his wings but when the turned back to Crowley, he blushed again.

"Yeah."

"I'll erm...I'll go and light the fire...you erm...you're more than welcome to stay there if you like," the angel said and nodded. "Right..." he muttered before he turned and left, his wings dripping water as he did.

Crowley was left smirking to himself in the bath and it was several minutes before he slithered out of it to join Aziraphale by the fire. Not another word was mentioned about what had just happened and they settled into a semi comfortable silence with the angel reading and occasionally stroking a hand down Crowley's scales.


	29. Passing

Just one week after Azirapahle's old friend, Penny and her granddaughter Ava had visited the shop, a teary Ava call him, giving him the unfortunate news that the old woman had taken a bad turn and wasn't likely to last very much longer. Crowley had driven him to the hospital faster than the speed of light and he walked into the small hospital room.

"You...came," Penny smiled in the direction of the door.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, closing the door and sitting down in a chair beside the bed.

"Old books," she said, her voice hoarse and quiet. "I only ever knew...two people...who smelt like old books. You and...Eric," she explained and he smiled.

"You have a lovely family," he told her. He'd met them all just before he'd entered the room, they were all waiting outside.

"Did...you see my youngest grandson? He looks like Eric, doesn't he?" she smiled, fondly.

"Yes, he does," Aziraphale agreed and held her hand, gently.

"He loves book, too."

"Your grandson does?"

"Yes. I've told him about your shop. I hope he'll visit you. You'd like him."

"That would be lovely," Aziraphale smiled.

"When I...asked you to come and visit me...I hoped...it wouldn't be for the...last time," she said, sadly, "I hoped there'd be more time."

"Penny..."

"I should have looked for you sooner," she lamented, "Forgive me?"

"Forgive **you**? I'm the one who left you both," he replied, "I should be asking that, not you."

"But you saved his life, you explained..."

"Well...never mind that now," Aziraphale shook his head, "Water under the bridge...isn't that what you people say?"

"I suppose so."

It was a difficult thing for angel to see someone who was dying, at least it was always difficult for Aziraphale. And it never got any easier. Which was why, throughout the centuries, he'd tried to distance himself from people, with mixed success.

"I've never really been religious," she remarked, "But you're an...you're...does that mean it's all true?"

"Depends what you mean by 'all'," Aziraphale replied. "There really was an Ark and a man called Noah," he said.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, I met him."

"You met him?"

"Hmmm. I wasn't too keen on the whole...flood idea, honestly. It seemed...well, it's not my place to question these things."

"Not your...but you're...you're an..."

"I'm...well, I'm not all that important up there. They don't much like me, I'm afraid," he confessed.

"Up there as in..."

"I really shouldn't be talking about this."

"I won't be here in a few hours, does it really matter?" she asked in an off hand manner.

"Penny, don't talk like that," Aziraphale scolded her.

"It's the truth. I...don't have any regrets, I'm old, I'm surrounded by my family...I'm luckier than a lot of people."

"A lot of people...and one angel, are going to miss you, very much."

"I wanted to ask..." Penny said, suddenly nervous. "You're...you're an...because of what you are...I need to know...is he waiting for me? Will I see him again?" she asked tightening her weak fingers against his own soft hands.

In such a situation, what was he to say? She was a dying woman begging for proof that Heaven existed but in actual fact, that wasn't the problem. The problem was, that Heaven didn't really care all that much about humans at all. Oh, they did their duty, but nothing beyond that. They were more interested in thwarting Hell just on principle rather than for the sake of the mortal souls they were meant to protect.

When people died, their souls would go one way or the other, but Hell spent more time cultivating those souls than Heaven did. And after all, there was only so much one angel alone on Earth could do about that. There was a place in Heaven for all good souls but like everything else there, it was driven by paperwork and there was often a backlog. There were so many humans now, the system simply couldn't cope anymore. Sometimes, a soul could be kept waiting for years in a kind of Heavenly Purgatory while papers were shuffled and misplaced and moved again. It wasn't fair, but that was what it was.

Aziraphale had an acquaintance, he wouldn't go so far as to say a friend, in the Heavenly processing department and he supposed that he could ask for a favour, to have Penny's soul sorted quickly. It was worth a try.

"I'm sure that he's waiting for you," he said to her, "And I'm sure that he's very eager to see you again. But Eric will have to wait a little while longer, I'm afraid. You're stuck here with us for now."

She smiled and gave a relived sigh and so did the angel, albeit a silent one.

"I had Ava bring me something," Penny said. "It's in that bag," she said, pointing shakily to a small velvet pouch on the nightstand. "Open it," she told him.

So he did. It was a polished pocket watch, engraved on the inside with a few short words and letters. 'To E, from P and E'. The first 'E' meaning Eric, and the second being Penny then Ezra. They'd given it to their friend on his birthday.

"Oh, Penny," he sighed and snapped the cover of the watch shut, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

"He would have wanted you to have it."

"But it should be passed to your family."

"Eric...he loved me, I know," she began, "But he also loved you. Take it, Ezra."

"He was my friend," Aziraphale said, warily.

"He loved you, I think, as more than that...once."

"Penny..."

"I'm not a fool," the old woman smiled at him.

"No, you're not. I know he did...but he never said anything and neither did I. I don't know that I...I mean I was very fond of him. But he chose to marry you. He loved you more. What you have to understand is that I'm a literal being of love. I'm made of it, from the tip of my wings to my toes," he said. "But I'm not selfish enough to ruin someone else's love. I'm meant to encourage it, not break it apart. I wouldn't know how to."

"He thought...when you left, that it was because..."

"That I was...jealous? So...was he was angry with me, all that time?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, "I don't think I ever saw him angry. He wasn't an angry sort of person. But he thought that he'd hurt you and he regretted it."

"He'd never have regretted marrying you."

"I hope not," she smiled, "You know what I meant. He thought he'd driven you away...at least he thought he had and he never liked hurting anyone."

"No, he didn't," Aziraphale agreed. "I admired Eric in many ways. He shared my love of books. He was one of the most intelligent people I'd ever met. I have...a friend...he says that in the time that it takes me to do something, then the rest of the world has already moved on by about three centuries," he gave a fond smile. "You...humans, I mean, live so quickly in comparison. I cared for Eric, I loved him, but I was not **in** love with him, I don't think. I'd still give my right wing for a chance to see him again though," he sighed.

"Keep the watch, Ezra," Penny told him, "Keep it and don't forget us. Promise me."

He gave a nervous cough and put the watch in his coat pocket. "I promise," he assured her. He briefly thought about telling her his real name but thought better of it. The poor woman had enough to contend with without the added knowledge that he'd lied even about his own name to them.

* * *

When Aziraphale came back out of the room, he rested his forehead against the door for a moment, silent tears falling from his eyes.

"Mr. Fell?" Ava asked, "She's...she's not..."

"No, she's alive, child," he told her, the 'but not for long' was silent but deafening. "Don't leave her alone, will you?" he asked and she nodded. He stood aside to allow her back into the hospital room and then the angel turned to his friend. "Let's go," he whispered, still crying.

"You sure?" Crowley asked, walking over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "'Cause we can stay, I mean..." he trailed off.

"No, we've said our goodbyes. Please, let's go," he begged.

Crowley nodded and led the weeping angel back to the Bentley.

* * *

It was difficult for Crowley to know what to do with a solemn Aziraphale. The angel wasn't particularly prone to melancholia and on the odd occasion that he was, getting drunk seemed to do the trick. But Crowley didn't think that was wise this time.

The first thing the angel did was, of course, close the shop and then sift though his extensive record collection and he put on a collection of music from the 1930's, a far cry from his usual classical concertos. He didn't seem inclined to move from where he sat on the old sofa by the fire after that.

"Do you erm...want to go out for dinner, later?" Crowley asked, "The Ritz? That sushi place you like? That nice place in Paris we went to in '56? Remember that? You said you loved it even better than Petronius' place in Rome. We can go there if you want. I'll let you butcher the French language trying to order for us and I won't even complain once, I promise."

"No, not tonight, dear," the angel replied, sombrely, "I'm sorry."

"Want me to get you anything? A book? Cocoa? Chocolates straight from Belgium, 'cause I can do that too?"

"No, nothing, thank you," Aziraphale said, giving him a sad smile.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," the angel answered, "I'd appreciate it...if you stayed...but if you've other things to do then..."

"Where else am I gonna go, angel?" Crowley gave him a reassuring smile, or at least he hoped it was.

"After 6,000 years...I thought...watching someone die...it hasn't been this hard, not for a while," he murmured.

"Well...don't people say it's harder if it's someone you know?" Crowley asked. He couldn't really sympathise if he was honest. He'd never cared enough about a human to morn their death. But he'd seen it happen to Aziraphale. Mozart dying had been a bad one for him. And Oscar Wilde, that had a particularly bad time for Aziraphale but Crowley had been in the middle of his century long sleep then too, so he'd been all alone, which had made it worse. But he'd been there afterwards to see just how teary eyed the angel got when he read Wilde's work even now on occasion.

"I hate it," Aziraphale said, "I hate seeing them die. Why did She have to make them so...fragile?"

"Easy, angel, your lot get into trouble for asking those kind of questions," Crowley said, gently.

"Yes," the angel grumbled and he curled himself up on the sofa, resting his head on a cushion. "I know," he said, closing his eyes.

"I'm...sorry, angel...about your friend," Crowley sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa that Aziraphale was lying on. Crowley felt the angel place his hand against his shoulder.

"Thank you," he said.

* * *

A few hours later, when Aziraphale was asleep, Crowley answered the angels' ringing landline to have the crying young Ava tell him that Penny was gone. Now he'd have to tell Aziraphale.

He sat back down on the floor, watching the angel frown in his sleep and Crowley didn't move until Aziraphale woke up. "Hey," Crowley said, swallowing nervously. Aziraphale gave him a small smile in greeting and pushed himself to sit up on the sofa. "Y'hungry? Thirsty?" the demon asked.

"Well...a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss," Aziraphale replied after a moment.

"Right," Crowley nodded and quickly ran off towards the kitchen. He took his time making the tea. He knew just how the angel liked his tea just as Aziraphale knew his own tastes in wine but the more time he spent in the kitchen, was time not spent telling his closest friend that a human he'd cared for was now dead. He waited for the kettle to boil, he wiped the mugs clean even though they were already pristine, then he even cleaned off the tea spoons and put them back in their drawer before he finally admitted that he couldn't delay any longer.

Crowley carried two mugs of perfectly brewed tea back into the living room and handed the white, angel winged mug to Aziraphale. His own mug was black and had little devil horns on the handle. Aziraphale had brought it years ago at the same time as he'd brought his own angel themed mug, and Crowley had laughed fondly at the sight of it. Aziraphale had claimed, rather embarrassed at the time, that they'd been sold as a set and Crowley had only teased for about a minute.

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said, taking his mug and breathing in the comforting smell.

"Erm...look, angel...there's erm...something I need to tell you," Crowley sighed, sitting down heavily in the arm chair opposite the sofa.

"Yes?"

"It's erm..." the demon rubbed at his neck, "Well...when you were asleep...you got a call."

"From?"

"Err...Penny's granddaughter...err...Ava, right? She...she said...erm...well..."

"...I see," Aziraphale blinked in understanding and lowered his mug to rest it on his knees. His eyes turned to the floor and he sighed. "Then...Penny...she's..." he trailed off, quietly.

"...Yeah," Crowley said, quietly.

"Oh," the angel breathed, staring into his mug which he held tightly between his hands.

"I'm err...sorry, angel, really," Crowley told him.

Aziraphale once again gave him a sad smile as silent tears fell from his stormy blue eyes.

Demons weren't meant to feel sympathy. Demons weren't meant to offer comfort. But Crowley could, and did, if the being in question happened to be Aziraphale. Crowley set his mug down on the floor and then took the angel winged mug from Azirapahle's hand and placed it next to his own. Then he sat next to the angel on the sofa and let Aziraphale rest against his shoulder.

Until just recently, Crowley had been trapped as a snake and there'd been a lot more physical contact in the last few weeks than the last few centuries combined. It didn't feel wrong for the angel now to rest his head against Crowley's shoulder or for Crowley to encourage it.

"Would you mind awfully..." Aziraphale began, slowly, "I mean, of course if you're busy...would you mind staying here and...I don't...particularly want to be alone."

"Where else am I gonna go, angel?" Crowley reiterated.

Aziraphale's silent reply was a grateful smile before he turned his head further into Crowley's neck.


	30. Storm of the Century

Crowley could describe Hell down to the smallest detail. He could drone on for hours about the sickly sulphur smell, or how there never seemed to be enough room for everyone, or how the mould spread from the walls to your clothes and then onto your very skin if you stayed there long enough. It was a horrible, dark place that just felt wrong and Crowley hated it. Hell wasn't meant to be liked though.

But this, this felt like a Hell that had been tailor made for him and he hated it even more than he hated every single circle of Hell.

Aziraphale had been to London that morning to deliver a book he'd recently restored to its rightful owner. He'd insisted that Crowley stay at the cottage by the fire because they both knew that he'd be bored and cold if he went to London; it was winter. The first winter in their new cottage. Aziraphale had expected to be back by late afternoon but he returned early and decided to fly the remaining distance from the town to the cottage, hiding his appearance with a small miracle.

Aziraphale was a good flyer but what neither of them had expected that evening, was for the storm of the century to hit the South Downs. With gale force winds, hail and torrential rain which caused flash floods as well as thunder and lightning, the angel's wings had taken a beating. If he'd gone out of the storm as soon as it had hit, he'd probably have been fine, or at least not as bad. But because he was such an angel, he'd been helping people, holding back flooding and directing winds not to damage homes and things like that. And of course, making sure that his favourite places scattered around the Downs weren't too badly damaged. Three hours outside, working constant miracles and fighting against the force of nature took its toll, both on his body and his wings.

Celestial wings were far more robust than those of a bird but they could still be damaged and when they were, it was important to tend to them as soon as possible. Which was what Crowley was doing.

* * *

Aziraphale was lying on his stomach on the floor in front of the fire, on a pile of soft blankets and cushions with Crowley straddling him, leaning over his limp, aching wings.

"It's...bad...isn't it?" the angel asked, biting his lip to hold back his pitiful whimpering sounds.

"It's...not good," Crowley admitted, sadly.

The angel let out a shaky sigh and shuddered and then moaned when his wings moved. It was the sound that Crowley knew he'd be hearing in his nightmares when this was all over. He never particularly wanted to see anyone in pain, but it was easy to ignore it usually. He could usually shut out the internal voice that was vocal about it. But Aziraphale's pain was different. Azirapahle's pain was impossible to ignore.

"Looks like...some of 'em are broken. They're gonna have to come out, angel," Crowley stated with a reassuring hand on his lover's back. He felt the angel shaking beneath him and he stroked his hand down Aziraphale's back, careful not to touch his wings.

"H...how many?" Aziraphale whimpered.

"Enough," Crowley replied. "Feels a bit swollen at the joint here too," he said with his hand hovering over where the limp wings met the angel's back.

"I was...o...out f...for t...too long...the wind was...too strong."

"You'll be okay, angel," the demon tried his best to reassure Aziraphale. "We'll get you fixed up in no time, you'll see," he said.

The angel sniffled and said nothing but he gave a weak nod.

Crowley's hand hovered over one wing but it was difficult to know where to start. Not only that but pulling so many damaged feathers was going to hurt and he really didn't want to do it. But he had to. So he did. He started with the smallest feathers that were barely hanging on and would be likely to hurt the least when they were removed. He left them in a pile out of the way but that small pile soon grew.

"Angel?" Crowley said.

"Hmmm?" Aziraphale muttered as he bit his lip.

"Tell me a story," the demon requested. He hoped it would keep the injured angel distracted so that when he came to remove some of the larger feathers, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much.

"W...why?"

"Just...a story, angel, any story."

"W...well...alright," Aziraphale grimaced again. "T...there's...t...'T...the Selfish Giant'...it...it's by Oscar Wilde..." he said.

"Of course you'd pick him," Crowley rolled his eyes. "D'you ever have a thing for him or was it the other way round?" he asked, curiously.

"T...there's no need to be jealous, love," the angel briefly craned his neck around to look at him.

"I'm not," Crowley snapped, haughtily.

"Please don't be jealous, my dear," Aziraphale reiterated. "Oscar and I had a mutual understanding of certain things and while it's true that he did...proposition me...more than once, I declined," he said.

"Wait, what? He did? More than once?" the demon asked and he stopped his gentle preening. "The git," he grumbled, angrily.

"What was done to him was monstrous, please be a little sympathetic to the poor man. He was far from a saint, but he deserved a better end than he received. And honestly, on my word as an angel, my dear, you've no reason to be jealous. Although, I have to admit...it is rather flattering."

"Humph," Crowley scoffed.

"Would you like to hear the story or not, my love?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me," the demon nodded, "And turn back over. This is gonna get worse before it gets better."

* * *

Unfortunately, Crowley's hope of distracting the angel was in vain and even though Aziraphale persisted in recounting the short story verbatim, as well as several others from varying points in human history, it didn't stop him from crying out and weeping as he lost some of his larger feathers which were prised out, dripping in blood.

"I'm...sorry, 'Zira," Crowley said as he held a towel close to the angel's left wing which was now bleeding from having a large, broken feather removed.

"I know," the angel sighed, shakily.

"I'm sorry for this...I'm sorry for not being there...I didn't know you were...I thought you were in London..." the demon stammered quickly, "I thought...you just got caught up with your books..."

"Well, I **was** in London. But I came back early. I missed you. Then the s...storm hit," Aziraphale replied.

"I should've been there...I should've known. I could've done something," Crowley grimaced.

In the past, though he'd never told Aziraphale, Crowley had had the angel under watch. Aziraphale attracted trouble like a magnet, so the demon had rationalised it perfectly in his mind. But he hadn't thought it was necessary for a long time now. He had no way of knowing if Aziraphale was in trouble but they spent every moment together so why would he need to? Clearly, he'd gotten complacent.

"You couldn't have known. T...this isn't your fault, it's mine," Aziraphale told him.

"But..."

"Of all the things we can do, telepathy isn't one of them, dear. You've no way of knowing if I'm in danger. Although I do have to admit, sometimes you have an uncanny knack for it."

"Guess I just got lucky," Crowley shrugged, not wanting to admit that he'd had Aziraphale followed at several times through history.

"Devilishly lucky," the angel smiled, "Not that I'm complaining. Now, please stop thinking that you could have somehow prevented this. We both know that it was my own fault for staying out there for so long."

"Just...don't do something so stupid ever again, y'got that?" the demon sighed.

"I can't promise, but I'll try," Aziraphale replied, sitting up slowly and kissing Crowley's cheek. He winced when his wings were forced to move with him but that didn't stop him.

"Stop moving, angel, geez, if I didn't know better I'd say you were a masochist," Crowley fretted and eased him back down onto the floor.

"I'm nothing of the kind," Aziraphale insisted, primly.

"Then stop acting like it and let me finish," he replied, holding his hands over a wing again for a moment before he resumed his taste of sifting through the broken feathers.

"Thank you for helping me, dear," the angel said, honestly through his discomfort and pain.

"Don't...don't thank me, not for this," Crowley muttered. He doubted he'd get any sleep that night.

* * *

That proved to be unfortunately correct. Crowley didn't sleep that night, but thankfully, Aziraphale did. He fell into an exhausted sleep when the demon was finally finished with his wings. They were looking rather thin in the feathers now, but they'd grow back quickly. Probably by the next morning actually. Angelic healing of wings was an odd thing. They could heal wounds in their glorious wings but they couldn't heal muscle exhaustion and wings were just like any other limb. Muscles had to heal on their own so the poor angel's wings would likely be sore for a week or so. The feathers would take time to regrow as well because he'd lost so many. It would likely be an uncomfortable and itchy process so Aziraphale would probably be a little tetchy in the meantime.

* * *

"You awake this time, angel?" Crowley asked when Aziraphale showed signs of waking again after a whole twelve hours in bed.

"Mmmm," the angel hummed. He ruffled his wings a little and then winced afterwards, letting them fall limply onto the bed again. It felt like extreme muscle soreness and would take several days to do away. "How...bad...do they look?" he asked, without opening his eyes.

"The feathers've started regrowing," Crowley answered, "Still probably sore though, right?"

Aziraphale nodded slightly, "I fear it means I'm somewhat out of practice when it comes to flying."

"Well, you **were** out in a storm for hours. But if you want, we can start flying more," the demon replied, "Every night if you want. After your wings have healed properly."

"I'd like that."

"Maybe we could fly through Alpha Centuri," Crowley suggested.

"You could show me your stars up close," Aziraphale smiled, "Oh that sounds lovely."

"Yeah, sure, angel. Alpha Centuri here we come...errr...soon."

"Hmm mmm," the angel agreed.


	31. Hells' New Resident

Crowley hoped that he'd honestly never return to Hell for as long as he lived, but as a demon, that was unlikely. And he had to admit, he was curious. Archangels didn't Fall on a daily basis and he himself had been the first and only one to Fall so he was understandably curious to see what had become of Gabriel. So, when Aziraphale finally fell asleep after his 'promotion' to Archangel, Crowley crept out of the cottage and slithered back into Hell.

As a former Archangel himself he had always been viewed with a mix of suspicion, fear and sometimes just pure hatred. The lower ranking demons would consent to do his biding if he ordered it but he was no Prince of Hell. Beelzebub was in command of Hell, make no mistake, but Beelzebub was no former Archangel either. They both knew that if Crowley had ever wanted to, he could have easily challenged Beelzebub for the position of 'Prince.' But he'd never wanted that. Just to be sure though, Beelzebub had sent Crowley up to earth to 'make some trouble' where he couldn't make his own claim as a 'Prince,' or even a 'Duke.' Though his imagination and love of keeping up with the times had done nothing for his reputation, demons couldn't deny that Crowley wasn't really someone you wanted as your enemy. But it was natural for demons to be violent, not necessarily smart.

"What're you doin' 'ere?" a voice demanded from out of the grimy shadows.

"What're you doin' here, **sir**, I think you mean," Crowley emphasised the word 'sir'. "Or 'lord,' I'll even settle for 'oh great master Crowley' if you're feeling generous."

"Righ'...sir," the lower ranking demon called Bogran, replied. He was covered in grime and mould and his clothes were moth eaten and singed, and he had piercing red eyes.

"Wanted to see the new recruit," Crowley said, "Where's he at?"

"Y'mean the Archangel?"

"Who else?"

"He's in the cells. Beelzebub's been down there since 'e got 'ere. He's a loud screamer," the demon grinned.

"Right, yeah great," Crowley said, brushing past him.

* * *

The cells of Hell were terrible, not that the rest of Hell wasn't terrible, but the cells were even worse. You could always hear the screams. No one was ever quite sure just who was doing the screaming, but all anyone cared about was that it wasn't them. This time however, everyone knew, from the mightiest Duke to the lowest of the lowest ranking demons, simply everyone knew that an Archangel had Fallen. And when an Archangel Fell, the most sadistic of torturers dusted off their talons and rushed to the cells.

Crowley strolled through the cast iron doors which swung open for him with an air of confidence that he didn't quite feel. He marched right up to the bars on the cage and leaned on them with a grin.

"Hiya, Gabe," Crowley grinned at the new demon.

Gabriel had seen better days that was for sure. His wings were of course black now and still smoking from the sulphur he'd have landed in. His eyes were fully black as well and his skin was burned and even peeling off in places. He had talons on each hand, jagged and grubby and just to add insult to injury, his once perfectly tailored suit had been destroyed beyond repair, torn and shredded by the claws of a thousand demons that had pulled him down. Each limb, wings included, was bolted into chains and given very little room to move in the cramped cell.

Beelzebub hissed in confusion and the several torturers and Dukes that were standing around the room looked on in bewilderment as the formerly silent Archangel, silent apart from his screams, finally reared up in anger and pulled at his chains.

"Don't...call me that!" Gabriel growled at him, he'd always hated that nickname.

"You didn't used to mind back when we were brothers Up there."

"I **did** mind! And we're not brothers!"

"Well, y'know, technically we are again now. You're a demon, I'm a demon...we're demon bro's now," Crowley smirked.

"When I get out of here you're the first one I'm coming after...you and Aziraphale! I'll destroy you both!"

"You're not getting out of here, Gabe," Crowley hissed back through the bars. "Hell hasn't had an Archangel in its cells for a long time. Isn't that right?" he turned to Beelzebub.

"What exxxxxactly are you doing here, demon Crowley?" Beelzebub demanded.

"Wanted to see the new recruit," Crowley shrugged. "What were you gonna call him?" he asked.

"Not zzzzzure yet," Beelzebub answered thoughtfully, "Now tell me what you..."

"Looks like you're having fun."

"Oh, we are," Ravadin, quite possibly one of the worst and most sadistic demons that Crowley had ever met, replied smiling, flashing his grimy, pointed teeth.

"We agreed...to leave each other alone," Beelzebub told Crowley, clearly displeased.

"And we are, and it's all going great, isn't it? I'm leaving you alone and you're leaving me alone and we're both better off. I'm only here to gloat. I **am** a demon after all."

"And he izzzzzz one of yours," Beelzebub remarked, mockingly, "Are you zure it'zzz not zzzzentiment?"

Crowley hissed and spat on the floor. "Not bloody likely, you damned overgrown piece of fly paper!"

Beelzebub shrugged at him and then turned to look at Gabriel. "I zzzeem to remember you being a lot more...cooperative then he is proving to be," the Prince of Hell said.

"You should keep him locked up in here...as in permanently," Crowley replied.

"I think he can be put to good uzzzzze...eventually. All former angels change their minds in time."

"Y'could put him to work cleaning the pits," Crowley grinned. The sulphur pits, which every new demon Fell into, were disgusting and loathed by all. The smell was putrid, the mould had taken over eons ago and the smog was so thick you could reach out and cut it with a knife.

"The pits haven't been cleaned for centuries," Beelzebub said, contemplatively and then also grinned.

"You poor clueless bastard," Ravadin the torturer chuckled at Gabriel and picked up a red hot poker, examining it with glee. "Pretty soon you're gonna miss our time together," he remarked.

"I'll leave you to it," Crowley said, waving a dismissive hand and walking away. "Have fun, Gabe!"

"You'll pay for this, Crawly!" the former archangel cried out, rattling his chains, "I swear on Heaven, you both will!"

"We'll see about that," Crowley muttered, without turning back.

* * *

When Crowley returned to the cottage, Aziraphale was awake and pacing in the living room in front of the fireplace, wringing his hands. His huge white wings were out and the feathers were trailing along the floor behind him, he'd almost tripped over them several times and did so again when the demon re appeared.

"Oh, bother," Aziraphale grumbled as he stumbled inelegantly and struggled to right himself.

"Angel?" Crowley said, furrowing his brow, "You should be asleep."

"Crowley!" the angel explained, smiling up at him but then he forced the smile from his face. "I've been worried sick about you. Where were you?" he asked. His first instinct had been to rush over and hug his lover but he'd stopped himself and put down his arms.

"Went for a walk," the demon lied coolly but the angel saw right through him.

"Please don't lie to me, love. We promised each other no more lies, only truth," Aziraphale begged him, his blue eyes watering and Crowley would've cursed that look if he could've. That look would be enough to make him drag down the stars he'd helped to create and mount them in a crown for Aziraphale to wear.

"I **was** out for a walk," Crowley insisted. "A lovely little walk...in...Hell," he admitted, quietly.

"What?!" Aziraphale yelled, glowing with divine light for a moment.

"Easy on the glow," the demon hissed.

"I'm sorry...but what on earth were you thinking?! You went willingly to Hell?! Do you have any idea how...how reckless that was?! They tried to destroy you the last time you were...well, when I was...they tried to discorporate you!"

"That's what demons do. Besides, you were a damn good actor when you were me. Even Beelzebub's still convinced we've got our little 'agreement' to leave each other alone."

"Yes, well I did try and be convincing, but I...oh, that's not the point, Crowley! You could've been..."

"I'm fine, angel, relax," Crowley sighed, slinking towards the fretting angel and petting his ruffled wings.

"Oh, that feels lovely," Aziraphale melted under his touch for a moment and then he stammered and backed away. "Stop trying to distract me!" he blushed.

"I'm trying to get you to calm down."

"Then don't do silly things like running off to Hell when I'm asleep!"

"You'd rather I went when you were awake?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"I'd rather you didn't go at all, you...you silly serpent you!"

"Ouch, the old 'serpent' dig, gets me right here," Crowley said mocking putting a hand over his heart. "Well, it would if I had one," he shrugged.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you have a heart," Aziraphale replied.

"I'm a demon," Crowley scoffed. "Anyway, doesn't matter. What **does** matter is, I was perfectly safe. And I'm fine, see...nothing wrong with me...except maybe I stink a bit...sulphur and maybe some mould, y'know. Nothing a wash won't fix."

"Why on earth would you even consider going back there?"

"Just needed to check on something," the demon shrugged.

"On what? What could be so important that you risked..."

"I wanted to see what they were doing to that bastard Gabriel, okay, angel!" Crowley threw up his arms in frustration. "Just...stop bloody looking at me like that," he grumbled.

"Gabriel? What...and whatever do you mean, 'looking at you'?"

"Just...that look you get...your eyes just...gah," Crowley scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I can't say 'no' when you..." he trailed off.

"Well...I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, mournfully, turning around. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Look, I didn't mean...why are we even arguing about this? I'm fine, I only went to make sure that...that they don't just let him loose to do whatever he wants. He's a loose cannon, angel, he could be dangerous if he ever gets outta Hell."

"Dangerous?"

"Who'd you think he's gonna come after for all this? He was already out to get you even before She Felled him and Satan only knows what he's capable of now," Crowley said, walking over so that, again, he was standing in front of the angel.

"Me? But he wouldn't...surely..."

"You can't think there's anything good or reasonable in him, 'Zira, even you can't. Fallen angels are angry and dangerous, trust me, I know. But...he's not going anywhere, so it's fine."

"What are they...how is he?" Aziraphale asked.

"He's getting what he deserves," Crowley snorted.

"I see," the angel sighed. "I can't help but feel responsible for this," he admitted.

"She decided to Fell him, not you. If y'ask me it was a long time coming, he was a bastard even at the beginning."

"Is there any way we could...save him?"

"Why? It's what She wants and it's what he deserves for trying to slice and dice you with that sword," Crowley replied. "Even an army couldn't break anyone outta the cells in Hell, angel, that's the point of them. They're Archangel proof too so don't go getting any ideas...Archangel Aziraphale," he gave a small smile.

He neglected to mention that he had simply strolled in and strolled out only moment ago, but as a newly Fallen demon, he himself had spent a very long time in the cells, everyone did. Aziraphale would only be risking his own Grace and his safety if he attempted some kind of guilt driven rescue mission anyway.

Aziraphale's mournful expression was heart wrenching enough to convince Crowley, not that it was hardship, to tug the angel close to him, wrapping his arms around the angels shoulders and running his hands soothingly over the soft feathers of his wings. "I don't want to be an Archangel," Aziraphale muttered against him.

"I know," Crowley replied. Nether did he anymore really but it still stung just a little to see Aziraphale so willing to throw away such a gift so readily. Of course, he wouldn't ever say so. Aziraphale didn't even know that he **had** been an Archangel in the beginning and if Crowley and his way, then he never would.

"You're truly not hurt?" the angel asked.

"I'm fine," Crowley answered.

"You've a habit of keeping your injuries hidden from me, dear."

"Well, not this time. I'm fine," the demon replied. "Check if you don't believe me," he said raising an eyebrow.

"I believe you," Aziraphale said after a moment, "I trust you."

"Right...well, good," Crowley said and threw himself down into the sofa, gesturing for Aziraphale to sit beside him, which he did after he willed away his wings. The angel sat as close as was possible to Crowley and curled in with his head resting on the demon's shoulder.

"Crowley?" he hummed.

"Hmmm?"

"Was that...what humans call our 'first fight'?"

"What?! That was not our 'first fight'," Crowley scoffed, "That was so not a 'first fight'. Angel, we've known each other for 6,000 years, we've had arguments before. That wasn't really an argument anyway. And where'd you even hear that expression?"

"Anathema left me some magazines when she visited us last week. They're really quite informative," the angel answered, his hand toying coyly with the grey neck tie that Crowley always wore.

"Oh, yeah? What kinda magazines?"

"Ah...well..." Aziraphale blushed and shifted nervously.

"Oh, those kinds," Crowley chuckled, "Naughty angel."

"I was simply curious," the angel defended, "And Anathema had been so considerate in bringing them, I felt I simply had to read them, out of common courtesy if nothing else."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," Aziraphale replied smugly.

It was a quiet, though by no means an uncomfortable one, before Aziraphale spoke again in a much more timid sounding voice than before. "Crowley, dear?" he whispered.

"Yeah, angel?"

"Will you...promise me something? Now, you shouldn't think for a moment that I don't believe you capable of defending yourself, I know for a fact that you are **very** capable. But I worry. The thought of you alone in Hell...I trust you, love, it's every other demon in Hell that I don't trust. Please, please tell me if you ever feel the...need...to go back there again."

"I didn't want to go..."

"But you did go!" Aziraphale exclaimed, pushing himself up off Crowley to look him in the eyes.

"And I'd do it again. I need to know that we're safe...or as safe as we can be anyway. I'm not as...optimistic as you. I need proof. And I got it. So it's all good now," Crowley replied. "But if that's what you want, then ok, I'll tell you the next time I take a nose dive into Hell," he added.

"Thank you," Aziraphale sighed and lounged back down against the demon.

* * *

A.N. I decided to go with the theory that Crowley was an Archangel before he was a demon. It'll make for a much more interesting story now that Aziraphale is one too.


	32. Well Hidden Talents

For the last few years now, it was a rare occasion that Aziraphale and Crowley spent even a day apart anymore. And for the last, almost, four years, they'd not only been the best of friends, but lovers as well which made it all the more perplexing when Crowley simply vanished without even calling. The demon had returned to his flat to water the remaining plants he'd left there and never returned to the bookshop. After a few hours, Aziraphale couldn't stand the strain any longer and he walked swiftly to Crowley's flat.

He was a bundle of panicked nerves for the entire journey and he didn't even stop to walk through the market as he usually would to pick up a pastry or two or to visit the plant stall where Crowley obtained many of his own plants.

When he finally made it to the very modern, expensive looking Mayfair apartment block, the doors very kindly opened for him and the lift very generously escorted him up to the top floor without the push of a button. The building knew Crowley very well and it certainly knew better than to get on his bad side, which meant treating Aziraphale as well as the demon, like kings.

The angel found Crowley's usually neat and pristine apartment in shambles with furniture strewn all over the place and scorch marks across the walls.

"Good heavens," Aziraphale breathed, checking every room. "Crowley? Are you here? Please answer me? Where are you?" he rushed through each room and found nothing until he reached the bedroom. The demon was curled up in his bed, his skin slightly blistered and he was shivering.

"Crowley!" the angel exclaimed and ran forwards.

"W...wha'? Wha'zzzzit?" Crowley shuddered and blinked up. "Oh...s'you," he mumbled.

"What on earth happened?"

"...N...nothin..."

"It's clearly something, love, please tell me," Aziraphale sat down gently on the bed and raised his hand. He held it out over the shuddering demon and began to heal the burns and blisters with a golden glow.

"Thanksssss," Crowley muttered when his skin healed fully, but it didn't stop him from shivering.

"You're still cold?" the angel frowned. He then proceeded to remove his shoes, bow tie, waistcoat and jacket and then lay beside the demon, pulling him into his warm embrace. "How's that? Better?" he asked.

Crowley just nodded and fell asleep almost instantly. Aziraphale, as always, followed him shortly after.

* * *

When the angel awoke some time later, he was alone in the bed and he reached out and arm to search for Crowley, but found nothing. "Crowley?" he blinked and pushed himself up, looking around the room.

When he found it empty, he pushed back the soft sheets and padded through into the living room where he found Crowley holding a sword and threatening a plant.

"What are you doing, dear?" Aziraphale asked, confused.

"Practicing."

"Practicing...swordplay...against a plant?"

"Yeah, and if it knows what's good for it, it'll fight back," Crowley threaten the plant which just shuddered at him.

"Do be nice to the poor things, Crowley," Aziraphale scolded him and walked over to stroke the terrified plant. "Hush now, my dear, you're alright," he told it and it purred happily under his kind touch.

"Stop spoiling them, angel," Crowley bemoaned.

"You cannot expect these beautiful plants of yours to fight back against a sword, my love," Aziraphale replied.

"Well, I've gotta practice against something."

"And why is that?"

"You! I can practice with you!" Crowley exclaimed, happily and he miracle'd another sword into being. He then held it out for Aziraphale.

"What? No," the angel cried, sounding insulted. "I wouldn't dream of harming you. You were hurt enough when I found you. What happened to you?"

"S'nothin', angel, I'm fine now, so can we..."

"No," Aziraphale shied away from the sword that Crowley held out for him.

"Oh come on, don't be such a stick in the mud, 'Zira," Crowley bemoaned.

"No, I won't do it," Aziraphale shook his head again.

"We've done it before. Back in Camelot, remember?"

"That was different," the angel said, "That was before...before the Arrangement. And it wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"You got me pretty good on my arm then, didn't you?" Crowley grinned, remembering one of the few actual fights they'd had between them when Aziraphale had been a noble Knight of the Round Table and he, the Black Knight, had come to a head between them and so King Arthur had ordered the noble Knight, Sir Aziraphale to dispose of their enemy. He'd settled for a tiny scratch and scaring him away.

"I didn't have a choice, there were other knights watching...I..." the angel flustered.

"Relax, I know. Just...come on, look...ok...we both know that you're better at this than me, there I said it, happy now?"

"Not at all. Flattery will not make me...fight you," Aziraphale said, "I don't know why on Earth you think that it would. And you know that I dislike violence."

"Oh, for the love of...gah...something..." the demon the up his arms in frustration. In one hand, he was holding a silver sword, and at his feet rested another. The sword that Aziraphale refused to take. "You're really gonna make me say it, aren't you? I already said you're better at fighting than me...isn't that enough?" he asked.

"That's not what this is about, Crowley. I will **not** fight you."

"Why? Scared you're outta practice, oh mighty Angel of the Eastern Gate? You've been retired for a while now, maybe old age has gotten to you."

"Now don't be like that. There's no force behind your words you don't mean them. You're trying to antagonise me. Please don't."

"Your Almighty gave you a flaming sword, She must've given you the skills to use it, too. You beat me without really trying that one time we actually fought, didn't you? So show me."

"No. What on Earth brought this on? Why do you want to do this?" the angel asked, sounding hurt.

"Does it matter? Because...maybe I'm bored and I just want to pass the time or maybe I wanna see if I can beat you and lord it over you for the rest of eternity or...something...just...come on, already!" Crowley picked up the other sword off the floor and held it out for the angel, but again, he didn't take it.

"I can't. I was given those skills to protect people. I won't use them to hurt you."

"G...Satan's sake, you're really annoying sometimes!" Crowley threw the swords to the ground, letting them clatter noisily as they landed and he ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry for that," Aziraphale replied, ever as calmly. "Why are you so...distressed?" he asked. "I don't like to see you upset, love, please tell me what's wrong," he said, walking over the demon that had begun to pace angrily, and he put a hand on Crowley's shoulder, stopping him.

"I wasn't..." Crowley began letting out a shaky breath, "When I was...before I Fell...I just wanted to make pretty things. Make my stars look good. I wasn't 'made' for fighting."

"Not all of us were."

"No, and the no one in Hell ever let me forget it either. But **you** were!" Crowley exclaimed, "And you never even wanna fight!"

"Of course I don't. I'm an..."

"If you say it's because you're angel, we both know that's a lie. I mean, you are an angel, you're more of an angel than most angels. I meant...the other angels **want** to fight. I've met other angels and whenever they see me or any other demon it's all 'let's go smite the evil demon' even when I'm not doing anything evil."

"They don't know you like I do," Aziraphale replied, comfortingly.

"Doubt that'd make a difference," he snorted. He then leaned down and picked up a sword. He then threw himself onto the floor so that he rested his aback against the wall with one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee. He examined the hilt of the old sword as he spoke again. "I didn't...I don't suppose that erm...your errr...former side told you...that Gabriel came to see me yesterday, did they?" he asked.

"What?" Aziraphale exclaimed. "Why would he...no, they didn't. What happened? Is he the one who hurt you? What did he do?"

"Bit of Divine Light...felt a bit sunburnt," Crowley admitted, "We traded a few hits..."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because then you'd get into trouble with...Up there...and I know you still like...being an angel," he shrugged. "And I bet Gabriel'd love the chance to put another mark on your record so I didn't wanna take the risk. And I know you were wanting to read that new book of yours and..."

"You're far more important than my record and and all the books on Earth put together," Aziraphale told him and yellow, serpentine eyes stared at him incredulously. "Are you alright?" he asked again, "Tell me truthfully."

"I'm err...I'm fine, angel," Crowley replied.

"Because I may be retired but I can still call Metatron..."

"Easy, 'Zira," the demon stopped him and turned his eyes away from his friend. "You're err...I wouldn't normally mind so much but my eyes are a bit sensitive right now and you're erm...you're kinda glowing a bit."

"Oh...I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, calming down his sudden angry burst of Divine light. "So, what did Gabriel say to you?" he asked after a moment.

"The usual spiel. 'Oh foul and evil creature...blah, blah, blah...don't make trouble...blah, blah...' Y'know he's got a sword too," he said, "S'bigger than yours."

"Yes, well, I'm told that size is irrelevant. And mine had flames," the angel grumbled.

"Hah! Too right," Crowley chortled, "No flames on Gabriel's."

"And...that's why you suddenly felt the need to duel that poor aspidistra?"

"I just...an angel's sword could kill me," he said, his voice shaking. "Not just discorporate me, although I don't wanna think about what'll happen if I end up back down there anyway, so an angel's sword actually destroying me'll probably by a mercy. That bastard just wanted to make sssure I knew that he could kill me and I wouldn't be able to ssstop him!" he hissed. "I can hold my own in a fight against humans well enough but..." he snarled again.

"Honing your skills so that you can seek retaliation is..."

"He sssstarted it! He attacked me! I wasn't doing anything! I can't do anything against Divine Light but I can sure as Hell chop his head off!"

"I'll admit that Gabriel and I have never exactly seen eye to eye," Aziraphale said, quietly, "But I'm not going to encourage you to fight him. He's an Archangel!"

"If you give me anything of that 'turn the other cheek' rubbish..."

"If an angel wanted to...harm you...they wouldn't necessarily need a sword," the angel noted, "And you have your own defences. I've seen your claws. You can stop time..."

"Claws can only do so much, they don't have any reach, and I can't stop time indefinitely," Crowley said and saw the conflicted look on the angels' face so he sighed and stood up. "I shouldn't have asked, I know how you feel about fighting and all that. You and Gandhi were two bloody peas in a pod you were. There's plenty of humans who know how to fight, I'll just go find some of them...forget it," he said.

Aziraphale sighed on seeing the despair on his lover's face, "Promise me something?" he asked.

"What?"

"I don't pretend to be an expert...I'm certainly no match for an Archangel even if I was still a Principality. Not to mention that I'm out of practice; I haven't fought properly since I was a knight. But if I agree to this...don't go looking for a fight. If one finds you, then that's another matter. But please don't be the one to start it, especially not with an Archangel. I don't want to see you hurt."

"So...this mean you'll do it?" Crowley asked.

"It means...for you...I'll try," the angel replied.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down, angel," Crowley grinned.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into these things so easily."

"It's what I do," the demon shrugged.

Aziraphale sighed and hesitantly picked up one of the swords off the floor. He looked at it with trepidation and turned it into a wooden sword and then did the same to the other one.

"Wood?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, "What are we, kids?"

"I don't want to do this in the first place," Aziraphale replied, "I'm certainly not going to fight you with a real sword."

"Alright, fine," the demon sighed dramatically and picked up the other sword. "Y'know, you could still club someone to death with this though?" he said, sarcastically.

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed glance and he shrugged. He then waved his hand and the room seemed to grow to twice its previous size and the furniture pushed itself back against the walls out of the way.

"Right, let's get to it then," Crowley said, holding up the wooden sword. "It's gonna be hard trying to fight seriously with a twig," he grumbled.

"It's not a twig! It's a training sword. Humans use them all the time."

"We're not human and we can heal any damage a normal sword can do anyway..."

"No."

"Fine," Crowley rolled his eyes. "You'll be wanting me to attack, won't you?" he assumed.

"I never was good with attacking first, no," Aziraphale admitted.

"Right...I'll erm...right," Crowley nodded and raised his sword.

* * *

Some time later, Crowley learned that 'out of practice' for Aziraphale actually meant 'give me two minutes to get over the horror of mock-fighting you and then let me spend the rest of the time defeating you.' For someone who looked a little on the soft side, the angel moved fast, increasingly fast and he was strong. That was to be expected since he wasn't human but Crowley found it difficult to marry the image of his friend turned lover, the bumbling bookseller with this fast, strong fighter. Each strike was blocked with lighting efficiency and though he never actually struck the Demon with much force, when it became clear that he'd lost, they'd settled for using the word, 'dead.'

"How. Are. You. Doing. This?!" Crowley panted, following each word with a swing of his sword which was blocked easily. "How. Are. You. Moving. So. Fast?!" he continued but stopped when his sword was flung from his hand and Aziraphale's wooden sword was pointing right at the centre of his chest. "Dead again?" he sighed.

"Dead again, I'm afraid, dear," the angel nodded with nary a fluffy, platinum curl out of place.

"Urgh," Crowley grumbled and flopped onto the floor, "Dead."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Aziraphale scolded him lightly.

"Can't answer you, I'm dead."

"Crowley..."

"Dead."

"You're really quite vocal, considering that fact."

"Stubborn dead demon."

"Are you sulking?"

"Dead."

"You are, aren't you? Need I remind you that this was your idea in the first place?"

"Dead."

"Really," Aziraphale scoffed.

"Outta practice my arse," the demon mumbled.

The angel knelt beside him and settled himself as comfortably as he could beside the demon and placed the wooden sword silently on the floor. "I think that's enough for now, don't you?" he asked.

"...Yeah, sure," the demon replied.

"I didn't enjoy that at all," Aziraphale said.

"We weren't really fighting, y'know that, right?" Crowley looked up at him.

"No, I know. But I still didn't like it. We spent enough times at odds with each other through so many years I just don't want to do it anymore. Even if it is...a training exercise."

"Well, were both gonna have to up our game. I just...I got a bad feeling about this. About him," Crowley admitted.

"About Gabriel?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever for?"

"You're serious? He's a fanatic, angel, he's dangerous. He always was. And him coming here making trouble it...it doesn't bode well."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale exclaimed, "You really think we should be worried then?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And you think this..." he looked at the sword for a moment and then back to Crowley, "Will help?" he finished.

"I think it'll make me feel better knowing I can slice and dice him, yeah," the demon replied.

Aziraphale sighed and stared at him for a moment but the snake-like never faulted. "Well then...if that's indeed the case...I suppose we should try again," he said after a moment.

"Just err...gimme a minute," Crowley replied, sheepishly as he stretched his back.


	33. Bad' Habits

Even as an Archangel, Aziraphale still kept his bookshop. He'd found that it had become as much a part of him as his wings or his halo were and he simply couldn't give it up. Besides, more than once through history, it had been the site of many a good deed and it helped to have somewhere other than his home with Crowley, for the other Archangels to report to him if necessary.

Aziraphale always kept a close eye on each and every one of the people who entered his bookshop, just in case they ever got sticky fingers or threatened to damage anything. But when one young woman had disappeared into the stacks over forty minutes ago, never to be seen again, he began to get slightly concerned. He picked up a small pile of books on the pretence of shelving them and sauntered through the stacks in search of the missing young woman. He found her easily, she was sitting on the floor, her back to a shelf, her knees drawn up to her chest with her face buried in her hands. She was crying.

"Oh, you poor, dear lady, whatever is the matter?" Aziraphale asked, setting down the few books he'd been carrying.

"Wha..." the weeping woman looked up and flushed, embarrassed. "It's...n..nothing, I'm fine..." she said, attempting to stop crying.

"I was just about to put on a pot of tea," Aziraphale said, kindly, "Would you care to join me?"

"Erm..."

"For 'where there is tea, there is hope' you know," he smiled at her.

She gave a small snort of amusement and wiped her hand over her eyes. "Yeah...yeah ok...erm...please," she said after a moment.

"Wonderful," Aziraphale beamed at her and held out his hand.

She stared at it for a moment, but the pale hand with manicured fingernails never faltered. It just hovered there patiently until she reached out and took it, allowing herself to be gently hauled up off the floor with a strength which surprised her.

"Thanks," she uttered, quietly.

He nodded at her and offered her his handkerchief which she took before he led her through the bookshop to the back room with the fireplace which he'd wordlessly lit before they reached the room. It always seemed to have a calming effect on him when he was distressed, despite the oddity of a burning grate in a bookshop, so he hoped that it would have the same effect on this young woman.

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid I've been awfully rude and I've realised that I don't know your name," he stated after offering her one of the chairs before the fire.

"Emily," she answered, sitting down.

"A lovely name to be sure," he replied, "Mine is Aziraphale."

She raised an eyebrow at the name but said nothing as he smiled. "Now, tea. I'll be just a moment. Help yourself to the books, oh or the gramophone, but do please be careful, it's quite old and rather temperamental towards strangers," he said.

He then left for a minute only to return to find that she hadn't moved at all from the chair. He was holding a a silver tray carrying a delicate tea pot and two cups resting on matching saucers. He put the tray down onto a round coffee table, "Milk and sugar?" he asked and she nodded. "You've been in here before, haven't you?" Aziraphale asked, pouring the tea.

"Erm...yeah," the young woman sniffed, "Couple of times."

"Browsing the classics, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Here you are, Miss Emily," Aziraphale said, holding out one of the dainty, bone China cups on its saucer to her.

"Thanks," Emily mumbled, taking the cup and resting it on her lap. She breathed in the steam rising from it and blew on it lightly before taking a sip.

"Are you a fan of classic literature then?" he asked and she nodded, "Any particular favourites?"

"Erm...Austen," Emily answered, staring into the cup still.

"A very good choice. Anything else? I'm rather partial to Oscar Wilde, myself," Aziraphale replied. "In fact, my partner often says that poor old Oscar gets more attention than he does," he smiled and she gave another little amused scoff. He classed that as a victory.

"H.G. Wells," Emily said, "I like H.G Wells."

"Ah, so I do. Very forward thinking works...well, at the time, obviously. I have some remarkable notes of his, they cost me a small fortune, but they make for some interesting additions to his work. People in the auction room went mad trying to get their hands on them and I rather think my name was cursed more than once when I won. Ah well, one cannot complain, I suppose. Not when one has tea and first editions."

"I'm erm...I'm sorry," the woman said, sombrely.

"Oh, whatever for?"

"For...for blubbing like that in the middle of your shop, I shouldn't have...I just..."

"Whatever your reasons, I'm sure you're perfectly justified, and while I doubt that it was the sheer beauty of my books that moved you to tears, something is clearly causing you great distress. I can only attempt to sympathise and offer my help should you need it."

"That's erm...nice...thanks," she said, surprised.

"You can stay here for the rest of the day, if you like. If it would help at all. I'll bring you something to read, some first editions, Austen or Wells, perhaps. I believe I have a beautiful edition of Pride and Prejudice somewhere...well, actually I have several, but that's beside the point."

"I erm..." she looked around at the room.

It was a beautiful, calming room lit by the fire and old oil lamps, like something out of one of the classic novels she loved so much or from an old oil painting you'd find hanging in a museum. The whole place, Aziraphale had come to learn, was a beacon to a certain type of people; bookish, occasionally lonely and intelligent people like Emily who sometimes needed refuge from the unforgiving, busy world outside. Sometimes a good deed was simply offering that refuge when needed and proving tea when the occasion called for it as well.

"Maybe...maybe I'll stay...for a bit...if that's okay," Emily sniffed.

"Of course, you're more than welcome," he replied. "I'll bring you those books and please help yourself to the rest of the tea," he said, standing up. "Do let me know if you get peckish, I have a delightful selection of cakes from the excellent bakery across the street," he added before he left.

Emily curled herself up the chair and tugged at the soft blanket that was draped over the back of it. Perhaps it was a little odd, and unlike her, to cry so openly in front of a stranger and for her to trust that stranger enough to sit there now, but as with many other people, she found it incredibly easy to trust Aziraphale even though she couldn't explain why. She had no idea how much time passed before Aziraphale returned carrying a selection of books but during that time she'd closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the crackling fire and the creaking of the old floorboards as people moved about in the shop.

"Well, here we are, I found quite a few that you might enjoy," he declared and deposited them on a table close to her chair. He then moved it closer so that she could remain seated and reach the books at the same time. There was a lamp on the table to help her to see and it flickered as he moved it. "One of them was signed by Austen herself you know...erm, to Aziraphale...a family name, I'm not quite that old," he said in what he hoped was a convincing, yet joking manner.

She gave a small smile and though her tears had stopped, her eyes were still glassy and she was sniffing quite regularly, it was a heartbreaking sight.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?" he offered.

"No...nothing," Emily replied, sadly, "You're..you're probably busy, I should just...go."

"Nonsense, my dear lady, I said that you were welcome to stay and I meant it. If I can do nothing else, then at least allow me to offer a refuge. Do you have anyone you'd like to call, for company?"

"...No."

"I see," Aziraphale uttered, sadly. "Then would you prefer me to stay in here with you?" he asked.

"I don't wanna be a bother. You're probably busy...with...with the shop, I'll...I'll be fine," she replied.

"If you're sure," he said and she nodded.

* * *

For an hour or so, Aziraphale busied himself at the front of the shop but then his concern grew too great and he closed the shop. He then, without a word, took up an old favourite book and sat opposite Emily by the fire. He wasn't sure that she even noticed, engrossed as she was by her own book. Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how much time passed, but when Crowley walked into the room, he reasoned that it must have been at least seven at night. They'd agreed to go out for lunch.

"Angel?" the demon blinked in confusion at the sight.

The young lady was still sitting curled up on the chair, her eyes closed and the book still resting on her lap.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale exclaimed, quietly. "I'm afraid I completely lost track of the time. Did I miss lunch?" he asked.

"No, I came to pick you up. Who's that?"

Aziraphale stood and walked over to him, carefully so that he didn't make any noise to wake the dozing Emily.

"Her name is Emily," he explained, "I found her crying in the stacks this morning."

"What? Oh, not again, 'Zira," Crowley rolled his eyes.

"She was crying, my dear, I couldn't simply just send on her way. And sometimes, silent company is the best thing one can offer when people are upset."

"So, what's up with her, then?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't say and I didn't press the matter. It's usually best not to, I've found."

"You've got a habit of picking up strays, y'know that," Crowley remarked, "Lemme guess, she's a bookworm, too?"

"However did you know?" Aziraphale asked, stunned.

"They always are, with you," the demon replied, fondly.

"She was quite distressed, the poor thing," Aziraphale stated, "But she seems to have calmed a little. At least she's resting."

"Soooo," Crowley droned, "Does this mean we're not going for lunch?"

"Oh...erm...I don't...I do hate to miss meals and I was rather looking forward to it," the angel frowned but then looked back at the sleeping woman. "But I would feel terribly guilty about simply leaving her alone here," he confessed.

"Leave a note," Crowley shrugged.

"I can't do that," Aziraphale replied, sounding appalled.

"So, wake her up then."

"But she needs the rest."

"Says who? Her doctor? You're not a doctor, you're an Archa...gah, that's just worse," Crowley scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Yes, quite, my love," the angel smiled, "You see my dilemma."

"I can go, it's okay," Emily said, suddenly, turning round in her chair to face them.

"Oh, you're awake. I thought you were sleeping," Aziraphale remarked.

"I'm err...a light sleeper," she yawned and stood up, stretching her muscles. "Thanks for letting me stay here, but I don't wanna ruin your plans," she explained and made her way over to them. "Really...thank you," she said to the angel.

"Well, are you quite sure that you'll be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Then do come back again, won't you," Aziraphale said, albeit reluctantly, "Tomorrow if you can. I've plenty more tea and more books than you could read in a lifetime."

"I will," she nodded. "Thanks again," she added before leaving.

"At least let us drive you. It's late and dark," the angel called after her.

"I'm not a taxi service," Crowley mumbled.

"Hush, love."

"But..." Emily turned back around.

"For my peace of mind, Miss Emily, if nothing else."

"Well...it's not far, I can..."

"If it's not far, then that's all the more reason for us to drive you there."

"You mean **me**," Crowley groaned.

"Well..." Emily blinked.

"Splendid, come along then, my dears," Aziraphale smiled, ushering Crowley out with an arm linked through his. He locked the door behind him and they turned to the road to the 1926 Bentley waiting for them, illegally parked of course.

"Whoa," the woman stared at the Bentley.

Crowley made a proud sounding 'humph' before clicking his fingers to open the doors and switch on the lights. "Get in then," he said.

"H...how'd...how'd it do that?"

"Magic. Get in," Crowley reiterated and sat in the drivers' seat.

Aziraphale as always took the front passenger seat which left Emily sitting in the back, staring in awe at the interior of the car from every angle.

"I think she likes the car, dear," Aziraphale whispered to Crowley.

"She'd better," Crowley replied, caressing the steering wheel before he turned the key in the ignition. As always, Queen began to play from the radio, blasting out 'I want to break free' as the Bentley tore through the streets, following Emily's directions.

They stopped when they reached a post war, semi detached house which, Emily said, she shared with three other people.

"Do try and visit me tomorrow, won't you," Aziraphale said.

"Okay, I'll try," she replied, getting out of the car.

"Goodbye, Miss Emily," the angel said just before the car sped off down the street again.

* * *

"Don't look at me like that, love," Aziraphale pouted.

"Like what? And I'm looking at the road, not you."

"You're looking at me like I've done something wrong."

"Y'cant keep taking in every waif and stray you see, angel," Crowley sighed.

"Who says I can't? Besides, it's my job. I'm an angel..."

"Archangel," Crowley corrected.

"Yes, thank you, I'm an Archangel, I'm meant to help people."

"The others don't."

"Oh, I don't know. I think Remiel is getting quite good at it. I think she enjoys it too. If I could only get her to stop wearing her armour whenever she wanders Earth, she'd be even better." (*1)

"Last time people thought she was in a Halloween costume."

"Yes, it's a rather convenient excuse, that. A pity it only works for the one month."

"Time before that people thought she was on the way to comic con," Crowley snorted, "We're running outta excuses."

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Aziraphale said, calmly. "But why on earth does it bother you so much that I still help people?" he asked.

"Doesn't."

"That was a terrible lie."

"I just...when we were...retired y'know...I liked it better that way...s'all," Crowley shrugged.

"So did I," Aziraphale agreed, sadly and rested his hand on the demons' knee.

"Like I needed another reason to curse that bloody bastard for ruining it all," Crowley hissed, thinking of Gabriel's Fall.

"Well, we still have each other, dearest, so we should be thankful for small miracles."

"**You** can if you want but I'm a demon, I'm meant to be greedy," Crowley said, turning a corner with a little more speed and force than was strictly necessary, or safe.

* * *

*1 Remiel is another Archangel, I haven't introduced her as a character yet though. I'm working on it.


End file.
